


Smoke and Ashes

by InTheArmsofaThief



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Magic!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-06 06:46:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheArmsofaThief/pseuds/InTheArmsofaThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scandals were popular in Beacon Hills.  The town was small enough that everybody knew something about everybody, and big enough that there were always plenty of stories.  </p><p>Only the big things stuck in the greedy gossip mongrels’ minds, though.  Like, the kid who smashed his car into the forever dented “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign, or the fire that killed most of the Hale pack, or the banshee who went crazy in her weird horror-story, science-lab lake house.  </p><p>Or Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [You can read it in Russian now!!! How cool is that! ](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5537287)

Stiles walked into the first café he came across after reaching town. He didn’t recognize the place, but it had been a few years since the last time he was in Beacon Hills, and there were always a few quick turn around store fronts.

There was no one at the counter when he opened the door, a little bell going off to signal his arrival. The only other people in the joint were a couple sitting in the far corner. The blonde stood up, her red apron visible as she moved. “I’ll be right with,” she started as she turned around, stopping short when she spotted Stiles. “Oh my god. I heard you were back in town but the Knitting Circle failed to mention how hot you got.”

Stiles didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. “The Knitting Circle?” he dared to ask.

It took Stiles a moment to place the pretty blonde as she made her way behind the counter, but the way she tucked a stray curl back reminded him immediately. Erica was one to talk about growing up hot. She had always been pretty, but she hid it behind baggy sweaters, uncomfortable in her own skin. She seemed to have gained some confidence and gave herself a makeover.

“Mrs. Merriweather figured out how to run a blog and now you can get phone updates Gossip Girl style. It’s gross and I’m addicted.”

“Well, the most people have seen of me so far is my car, so it’s no surprise my good looks haven’t made the front page,” Stiles joked. He’d only gotten back in town a couple of days ago. He had noticed people noticing his beat up blue Jeep on his way in. His dad had said everyone at the station knew he had made it in by the time John got to work the next day. Stiles opted to walk today and hopefully garner less attention.

“What’ll you have?” Erica asked, finally behind the register.

“Mocha, double shot espresso.” It was cold outside and Stiles had been up all night trying to figure out what he was going to do with his life now that he essentially threw all of his education and training out the window. He needed comfort and caffeine. “Thanks.” Stiles handed over a crumpled five and drummed his fingers against the counter.

“Town’s going to have a field day when they find out you visited here,” Erica said as she pulled some lever on what Stiles assumed was the espresso machine. Her voice was a little softer than before, less brash and more sympathetic. “It’s, uh, Laura Hale’s business.”

Stiles’s fingers stilled. He looked over to the only other patron the in café and cursed himself for not recognizing him beyond a vague notion of hot man on computer. Stiles looked back to Erica, who seemed to understand what he didn’t voice and she nodded.

“Shit.” Stiles rubbed his hands over his eyes. The cheap knit fabric of his fingerless gloves scratched his skin. When he pulled his hands away, he couldn’t help but look back over to the man on the computer.

Derek Hale was staring right at him.

Stiles tore his eyes away and focused on Erica. It wasn’t Derek’s fault, and Stiles hated giving the impression that either of them had somehow done something wrong, but Stiles couldn’t be here if he wanted to make his way back into the community.

Scandals were popular in Beacon Hills. The town was small enough that everybody knew _something_ about everybody, and big enough that there were always plenty of stories. Only the big things stuck in the greedy gossip mongrels’ minds, though. Like, the kid who smashed his car into the forever dented “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign, or the fire that killed most of the Hale pack, or the banshee who went crazy in her weird horror-story, science-lab lake house. Or Stiles.  

There was a reason Stiles left home, but he just couldn't stay away any longer. He missed the stupid place. Stiles was never meant to “get out and make it” as so many teens dreamed of doing. Stiles was a homebody. He wanted to find a job in the county, a house in the town, have a family, kids that would go to the same schools he went to, coach little league. Stiles wanted a domestic life and he wanted it here, as dumb and crazy as it sounded. Beacon Hills was home, and he could never give that up. He didn’t want to.

But the fact remained, the town was a hive mind on certain subjects. He would rather not have his first publicly recorded action being to visit the coffee shop run by the family whose life he supposedly ruined.

“Thanks for the heads up,” he said. “Keep the change. It was nice seeing you again, Erica. The change looks good on you.” Now that Stiles knew who ran the shop it wasn’t a hard jump to make that Erica’s newfound confidence was related. Paying attention, the signs were obvious of her transformation. She gave off the same energy as his friend Scott when he got bit back in high school. There was something raw about it.

“Careful, I have a boyfriend,” she winked, setting a steaming to-go cup in front of him.  

“And I’m too gay to function,” he referenced.

Erica cackled. “Well I wrote my number on the cup anyway, so keep in touch Stilinski. Just because the town is stupid and I'm part of the pack now doesn't mean we can't be friends.”

Stiles lifted his drink in acknowledgement, but they were both thinking that was a lie.

“See you around, Erica.”

Stiles gave one last look to Derek Hale, who was typing away at his computer, headphones on and seemingly unbothered by the world.

Then Stiles was out the door.

X

“What was that about?” Derek asked, having heard the whole thing. Even if he _was_ playing music he would have still been able to overhear the conversation.

“Small town nonsense.”

“Beacon Hills isn't that small,” he retorted.

Erica rolled her eyes and grabbed herself a scone from the display. “Okay, well in fourth grade-”

“Nope, never mind,” Derek cut her off. Erica loved having an ear to talk off and he already regretted giving her the opportunity. Derek would ask Boyd if he ever really wanted to know. Erica’s boyfriend was the only person Derek knew who could give a straight answer.

Still, Derek was intrigued. Everyone in Beacon Hills knew the Hale pack, and ever since he and his sisters returned two months ago they had been given an overly warm welcome by everyone who recognized them.

Derek hated it. He enjoyed his solitude. The quiet was better for his writing even though he found himself spending hours a day at the café for the free coffee and baked goods. (He was mostly babysitting Erica, a new bite, but they didn’t tell her that was why he showed up). But his alpha was right, Beacon Hills was their home and wounds had had time to heal. It was time to come back, as annoying as the locals were.

“You're no fun,” Erica complained.  

“Get back to work,” Derek muttered, knowing she could hear him.

“You're not my boss.”

Derek snorted. “I should make Laura pay me as acting manager for whenever Cora’s not here.”

His younger sister was due to arrive any moment for the afternoon shift. Laura always opened the place with their first new hire and bite, Isaac. Erica covered the lunch shift and worked until dinnertime. Cora worked afternoon ‘til close. With the amount of traffic the place got, it was all they needed so far. Boyd, who hadn’t taken the bite yet but was going to once Erica had settled, declined the offer to work at the café. He had a manager position at the ice rink and coached kid’s hockey instead.  

“Besides,” Erica continued, not listening, “there's no one here.”

“High school gets out in twenty. You want to be prepared for that rush.”

Erica groaned and started restocking the display case.

X

People didn’t notice him as he made his way through town. The layers of jacket, hoodie, and flannel made him look larger than he was and the tuft of hair on his head was distinctly different from the buzz cut he had in high school. Stiles could be anyone.

He ducked into a Burger King and grabbed a meal that he ate as he walked closer to the outskirts of town. The animal clinic where his friend Scott used to work during high school was still running and Stiles knew that if the Hales were back in town he had to talk to Deaton. Stiles was surprised that his father hadn’t clued him in earlier, but the Sheriff wasn't always attuned to the finer aspects of the magical world.   Not everyone understood their rules and regulations and common courtesies. There was no reason to unless you were a part of it.

Deaton, the vet and so much more, recognized Stiles immediately. He told an old woman with a poodle to hold on a moment as the vet escorted Stiles into the back office. “I’ll be with you after I finish up front. She’s my last appointment for a few hours.”

Stiles nodded his understanding and was left alone. Deaton’s office didn’t look anything special. There were charts of foods dogs and cats couldn’t eat and advertisements for animal hygiene snacks. But Stiles knew that the cabinet behind Deaton’s desk was locked and full of concoctions to tranquilize things far stranger than a wild animal.

Deaton didn’t parade around that he was a druid. He didn’t hide it either, but somehow most people didn’t catch on.

Stiles’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Scott. _What are you doing at Deaton’s?_ Stiles frowned, confused. He quickly texted back: _how the hell did you know that?_

_I totally follow the Knitting Circle._

Stiles silently cursed the old woman with the poodle. He had no doubt she was the one who alerted the whole town to his presence at the animal clinic.

_Easiest way to know my mom’s ok. Surprised u didn’t keep track of ur dad with it._

Stiles rolled his eyes. _Didn’t have a lot of access to social media in the academy._

Just then Deaton came back and sat down in his chair behind the desk. “Mr. Stilinski. I heard you were back in town.”

“So has everybody, it seems,” Stiles sighed heavily.

His phone buzzed again, a text from Scott probably asking again why he was at Deaton’s, but Stiles ignored it.

“Should I presume to know what this meeting is about?” Deaton asked.

“Stumbled into the Hale’s coffee shop this morning. Did you pick up as their emissary again, or did they bring their own from out of town.”

“Neither,” Deaton said, rifling through his desk drawer for something. “Laura Hale has taken up with my sister for her emissary. They were in the same graduating class, I believe, and Laura felt more comfortable asking for her assistance than mine in returning to Beacon Hills.”

Stiles nodded. It made sense. Stiles never knew Laura, but her work up in the Dakota’s as an alpha didn’t go unnoticed. She was strong and smart and took care of things without going on a power trip. The SIU had hoped Stiles’s feeble connection to her could get them a meeting, maybe hire her, but Stiles had refused that particular assignment and what little he knew of Laura, she wouldn’t want to help out the government that way, even if she didn’t oppose them. She was the type to come home once she felt comfortable, find solidarity with people she knows. He was making assumptions, but they felt right.

“Well, on behalf of your sister, do you know if there’s anything I should or shouldn’t do?” It was only proper, after all.

“Concerning a Spark? No.” Deaton finally found what he was digging for and pulled out a small box. He opened it and removed a closed Petri dish with some sort of soil sample in it. “Myself, however, could use your help.”

“What is it?” Stiles asked, already intrigued. Deaton was the type of man to hold the secrets, not ask for help in understanding them.

“Something strange.”

X

Derek was at the library the next time he saw Stiles again. Apparently Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had gone to high school with him. Even Cora had a vague notion of who he was from their elementary school classes together. Other than the fact that Stiles was the son of the town Sheriff and he was some sort of Spark (whatever that meant), he didn’t get much out of the new pack members. Not that Derek had asked.

Derek was meandering through the rows of non-fiction, books about deadly fauna, how to build a steam engine, and medieval use of symbolism in art tucked under his arm. Being a writer lead him down weird paths, but they were always interesting, and Derek liked knowing things.

As he was about to pull a book about the biology of lions from the shelf, he saw Stiles in the next aisle over through the uneven gap of books like stalagmites of written word. He was still wearing his endless layers, his hands softly stroking the bindings of the books as he read their titles, still wearing those ratty fingerless gloves.

Derek, pulled by a sudden urge he was surprised to both have and follow, slipped to the end of the aisle and turned the corner to reach Stiles.

“Hey,” he said.

Stiles looked up, sliding a thin book back in place. He seemed to take a beat before startling, looking back at the books in a sudden fluster. “Oh, hey.” Stiles looked for a book in a hurry now, pulling volumes off the shelf seemingly at random and making a stack in his arms.

“What are you researching?” Derek asked. He was in here so often he knew most of the book titles by heart, even if he hadn’t read them all. It hurt a bit that Stiles seemed to want to get out of there quickly. It wasn’t the usual response Derek got. At least, not when he wasn’t glaring.

“Uh,” Stiles glanced up, hesitating. “Something Deaton asked me to look into.”

“Erica said you were a Spark,” Derek said. Stiles nearly went rigid, his movements gaining a slower and more careful quality to them. “Is that kind of like what Deaton is?”

Stiles grimaced. “Kind of.” Stiles looked over to him, chewing on his lip and burdened with about a dozen books. He sighed heavily, all tension leaving his body in favor for resignation and exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” Stiles said. “I don’t mean to be a dick. You don’t seem like a bad guy, I just. I probably never should have come back to town. There’s too much history here, with me. But I did, and I want to stay. But I shouldn’t be seen with you, because it’s like Big Brother and.” Stiles stopped abruptly.

“Why can’t you be seen with me?” Derek asked, growing indignation. Not at Stiles, but at the gall of the town to say they shouldn’t even talk, that Stiles shouldn’t even patron Laura’s shop. It didn’t make any sense.

It could be because Stiles was a Spark. They were rare. Rare enough that even Derek, with all his knowledge of the supernatural, didn’t know much about them other than they had magic. Maybe the townsfolk were trying to protect him and his pack.   It was obvious to see that they adored the Hale Pack and saw them as the fragile, vulnerable kids they had been when they left after the fire all those years ago. But it still didn’t make sense.

“Because-,” Stiles started. “Oh my god, is that _Ghastly Green Grimoire_? I was looking for that one!”

Derek looked down at his stack of books, the book of deadly fauna in fancy script resting in the crook of his elbow.

“Uh, yes?”

“Can I have it?” Stiles asked.

Derek looked at the other man. He was lithe and tall, his hair a mess. Moles freckled what skin was visible. His noses upturned just the slightest and his eyes seemed endless. He was ratty and skittish and somehow more solid than any other person Derek had met in Beacon Hills. And he was absolutely beautiful.

“No.” Derek said, not really sure what prompted him to act this way. “I’m checking it out. If you want to read it before it’s due, you’ll just have to come find me.”

Derek left Stiles standing there, gaping in the tucked away aisle. His mind like static, Derek checked out his books and left the library, his heart racing a bit at the small feat he just pulled. It was so unlike himself that halfway home Derek had to pull his car over and just stare out the window. He swallowed thickly thinking about how this guy, who he’d only met twice and seemed to want nothing to do with him, was the one that some primal part of Derek’s mind had latched onto.

It was utterly ridiculous.  Worse, he seemed not to care.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was fuming.  He had tried to do the research necessary to solve Deaton’s mystery but that _asshole_ took the one book he knew had an answer for him.  And it’s not like he could login to the SIU’s database anymore to find the information.  Well, he could, but he didn’t want to get arrested for breaking into a government database because they’d probably charge him as a spy or terrorist or some shit considering his background.

He had worked tirelessly combing through every other resource he had before finally giving up and storming over to the café.  He was ready to turn to the spot near the back he had first seen Derek and demand he let him at the very least borrow the book for a few hours only to stop short to find the place half full, some old lady sitting in Derek’s seat, and Isaac Lahey manning the counter.

“Oh, don’t tell me your part of the pack too?” Stiles asked, under his breath, as he walked up. 

Isaac nodded, having heard him even over the din of the café.  Isaac had stayed with Stiles and his father for a few months sophomore year of high school when Mr. Lahey was arrested for abuse.  After that he got placed in a foster home and then emancipated at seventeen.  They stayed in each other’s orbits, always checking up on each other in high school, even though they never really got along.  There was just a sort of solidarity when it came to getting Isaac out of that situation.

“What are you doing here?” Isaac asked, eyeing him up and down. 

Stiles phone buzzed in his pocket.  He took it out and groaned.  After his last encounter with Derek, his father had texted him to pick up stamps from the post office, since he was right next door at the library.  Stiles then subscribed to the Knitting Circle and was now constantly updated about his own life.  Everyone in Beacon Hills now knew he was at _The Midnight Brew_ , which was a dumb name because it wasn’t even open that late most nights.

“Have you seen Derek?” Stiles asked, trying to keep his voice down from any hearing aids in the area.  He side-eyed the old woman sitting nearby.

“Derek?” Isaac shook his head.  “He doesn’t come in anymore now that Erica’s gotten through her second full moon without daytime issues.  Why?”

Stiles nearly bit his cheek in frustration.  “He has a book I need.  Do you know where he is?”

Isaac shrugged.  “Laura!” he called to the back. 

Stiles blanched.  Laura had to be Laura Hale.  He wondered how far away she was that Isaac actually needed to raise his voice, but she was rounding the corner in moments.  Her eyes zeroed on Stiles and she stalked over.  Somehow, with the airs and grace of royalty in a black tee shirt and red apron, Laura was able to exude the full extent of her alpha power.

“What seems to be the problem?” Laura asked.  She must have assumed that she would only be called from whatever she was doing if there was an unruly costumer.

Isaac snickered.  “Stiles is looking for Derek.  Says he has a book he needs.”

Laura’s demeanor immediately changed to something more resembling the Cheshire cat.  “Oh my god.  This is brilliant.”

“I’m missing something,” Stiles said, looking to Isaac for clarification. 

“I’m also missing something, dude,” Isaac said.  “Don’t look at me.”

Laura leaned over the counter, a smirk on her face.  “Come back tomorrow.  Around noon.”

“We’re busy then, Laura,” Isaac reminded her, eyeing the patrons that were watching them, typing away on their phones.  “And Stiles probably shouldn’t be here?”

She pulled back in surprise.  “Why?”

Stiles just shook his head.  Isaac gave him an awkward, apologetic shrug. 

“Fine,” Laura huffed.  “We have a lull around 1:30.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said, not quite positive what Laura was planning.  But he needed that book.

X

Derek was fuming.  His sister knew him better than he anticipated sometimes.  Most of the time.  It was aggravating knowing that after a few offhand comments he had somehow let his whole life slip.  And now Laura pranced around smirking saying she met the _boy_ that had Derek _mumbling_ as he tried to write. 

“I always mumble,” Derek said, crossing his arms uncomfortably. 

“Oh please,” Laura grinned.  “This is like the time you met Paige in high school or Josh or Braden when you were at NYU.  You pull pigtails and act all affronted when they so much as look at you.  And then you grumble and mope about it.”

Derek glared at her and tried to get back to his writing, but her words left him unsettled.  The silence between them stretched until Derek finally grit his teeth and gave in.  “What did you say to him?”

“You’re coming by the shop tomorrow to give him that book you stole.”

Derek balked.  “I didn’t _steal_ a book.  It’s from the library and I wanted to check it out!”  The fact that it had turned out to be completely unhelpful to his research and he could have returned it when he was at the library yesterday was left unsaid.

“Whatever.  You’re coming or I’m just going to give him our address.”

“Fine,” he snapped, typing nonsense on his word document just to seem as if he were busy.  “Now leave me alone.”

Laura came over and pecked his cheek.  “See you later.”

 She grabbed her purse and was headed out the door, leaving Derek to try and figure out what he was going to say to the guy.  Derek pulled up facebook and logged into Cora’s account.  She didn’t know he had hacked hers, but sometimes Derek liked to see what was going on with their old friends but not enough to be bothered by them personally.  He figured if Cora ever found out he would call in a favor and get her a signed copy of some Neil Gaiman book. 

Cora was, predictably, facebook friends with Erica and Isaac and Boyd.  Derek searched their friend lists for anyone named “Stiles” and found an account that hadn’t been touched in two years.  There were a couple of “happy birthday” posts from friends with no responses.  Then a picture of Stiles with a shaved head and a nervous smile with the caption _off to the academy._ The last entry before that was of a smiling kid in a cap and gown holding a UC Berkley diploma next to a man Derek vaguely recognized from town, his dad probably.

Derek closed facebook.  That was enough cyber stalking to make him feel like a total creep.  Even still, he now wondered what Stiles did.  What the academy was for. 

X

Stiles was back at the café the next day, waiting nervously near the counter for Derek to show up.  Laura Hale kept giving him these sly looks and then angrily glaring at the front door and it was starting to freak him out.  Isaac only snickered. 

“Anyone who thinks you’re some big bad tough guy is clearly not paying attention,” he laughed when Stiles jumped at the door ring.

“No shit,” Stiles grinned wryly.

“You know,” Isaac said, placing a drink Stiles didn’t order in front of him.  “I did try to correct people about you.  For as much as I’m still not sure if I like you or not, you’re not a bad person.”

“Thanks, Isaac,” Stiles said, surprised by the sentiment and the free drink.

“Besides,” he shrugged.  “Once you see a teenage boy cry over breaking a lamp-”

“Shut up before I throw this in your face,” Stiles glared jokingly, taking a sip of the mocha. 

A little gasp came from behind them and Stiles groaned.  That would be on the blog as fast as arthritis riddled fingers could type. 

Laura looked over from the register where she was ringing up some soccer mom.  Stiles squirmed a bit.  It was easy to forget about werewolves, it always had been.  Of all the things out there, most didn’t have super senses.  And werewolves blended so well with the rest of society that it was easy to forget how attuned to everything they were.  How much they could overhear or even smell.  Stiles didn’t doubt that Laura had heard every word between Stiles and Isaac.  He wondered what she thought.

His mocha was almost gone by the time Derek walked through the doors.  Stiles was starting to get nervous because the schools were going to let out soon.  None of them would know who Stiles was on sight.  They were too young.  But Stiles still didn’t want to be caught lingering here too long.

“Hey,” Stiles said as Derek approached.  Laura was still around but Isaac had switched over for Erica and the two women stared ravenously. 

“Ignore them,” Derek said, nodding towards the girls. 

“Yeah, well, Laura was the one who asked me here, so she’s kind of hard to ignore.  Um.  The book?”

Derek rolled his eyes but reached into his bag and pulled out the grimoire. 

“Awesome, thanks.  I can get it back to you tomorrow.”

Derek yanked the book back.  “It’s a library book.  I don’t want to get hit with the fines if you ruin it or lose it.”

Stiles clenched and unclenched his fists.  “Right.  So, we could go to the library and you could return it and I could check it out?” Stiles suggest.

Derek shook his head.  “I still need it.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Laura’s jaw drop.  She smacked Erica gleefully and it all weirded Stiles out.

Derek shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I can let you use it, but I want to keep an eye on it while you do.”

Stiles slumped, looking around the café in a slight panic.  “I can’t stay _here._   I’m already being burned at the stake metaphorically for showing up at all.  Come on,” he begged.

Derek looked concerned for a brief moment before squaring his shoulders and offering his loft as a place to study the book.  Stiles felt like he had a frog in his throat.  Going from the Hale’s place of business to their _home_?  The Knitting Circle would go crazy. 

For a moment he wondered if it was worth it.  But it was.  Deaton didn’t just go around asking for answers to mundane puzzles.  From what Stiles was already able to piece together, something was going on and Stiles was the only one with the know-how to figure out what. 

“Fine,” he whispered urgently.  “But no one can know I’ve been to your place.  I mean that Erica,” he said, turning to the girls. 

“I’m not a total dick, Stilinski.  Even though you never texted me.  Go.  I’ll divert rumors.”

“Thank you,” he mouthed, before pushing past Derek and out the doors.   “Find me out back,” he said softly, knowing Derek would catch it. 

Stiles couldn’t believe he was doing this.  He was going into the wolf’s den.

X

Derek tried not to be creepy but ultimately didn’t succeed in not staring at the stranger as he chewed on his pen cap and took notes at Derek’s coffee table, the grimoire lain open in front of him.

“Why do you need this book so bad?” Derek asked, curiosity getting the better of him.  Laura always had said Derek was more like a cat than a wolf.  Although, that was mostly because he was temperamental and didn’t often let people get close to him and would sometimes fall asleep on the floor in a patch of sunlight and unfortunately his sisters had the photos to prove that last one.

“Believe it or not there are some things you can’t find on the internet.”

“Like what?”

Stiles glanced between the book and Derek a few times before spitting the pen cap from his mouth into his hand and shoving the chewed plastic over the tip of his pen. 

“Have you ever been to Arizona?” Stiles asked.

“Uh, no.  Wait.  Yes.  I was dragged to Las Vegas for Cora’s twenty-first.”

“What about Nebraska.  Or Idaho?”

“I’ve been to Minnesota as a kid,” he answered, unsure of where this line of questioning was coming from or going.  “Mexico, New Mexico, California, Oregon, North and South Dakota, New York, and Maine.”

“Awesome.  Okay.  So, you have super senses.  Werewolves store sense memory 300 times stronger, more accurately, and with higher levels of distinction than humans.  Right?”

“I guess so?  I never looked up the facts.  What does this have to do with your book.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and dug out a soil sample from his jacket pocket.  Derek couldn’t help but wonder why Stiles was inside for almost an hour and still hadn’t taken off his coat or stupid fingerless gloves.  His hat was sitting on the couch next to him, at least. 

“This is soil from a flower that someone decided to transplant in the preserve.  Meaning, someone took this flower from somewhere else and planted it there.  So this dirt, isn’t Beacon Hills dirt.  The flower isn’t native to California and if you had been to any of the states I listed, Las Vegas aside, you may have been able to help me figure out where exactly it came from.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because the flower is poison and Deaton thinks someone is trying to choke out the magic of the petrified wood stump in the middle of the woods.”

Derek leaned back in his desk chair, mouth parted slightly with shock.  Not that someone was messing with the magics in Beacon Hills.  That seemed to be par for the course as far as Derek remembered.  But, the fact that _Deaton_ had gone to this _kid_.  Well, he wasn’t a kid.  Stiles had to be at least twenty-four and Derek wouldn’t be surprised if he just looked young.  Still.  Deaton didn’t trust people who didn’t prove themselves first.

“Why don’t you go to the police?  Or look for people who’ve been out of state recently?”

Stiles shook his head and tapped the soil sample.  “I’m not looking for who did it.  The issue with magically charged land is that introducing _different_ magically charged land to the environment can work the same as any type of non native population killing and taking over.  If I can figure out where this plant came from I can disconnect its magic from its home.” 

“That,” Derek started, staring at Stiles and the way his hands still seemed to be moving with unspoken words and the moles dotting his cheek and the curve of his utterly distracting lips, “doesn’t make any sense.”

Stiles sighed.  “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“And why aren’t you trying to find the person who did this?”

Stiles looked back up.  “Oh, because I think it was an accident.  The soil bit.  I mean, someone is definitely trying to cultivate their own poison for most likely dastardly deeds, but the vid cam I set up in the area should take care of that.”

Derek stared at him in amazement.  There was something to the way Stiles undercut his skills.  It made Derek want to know him better.  Because the few things he’s talked about so far must only be the surface. 

Then, as Derek was watching this other man in amazement, Stiles uncapped the soil sample, put a dab of it on his finger, and licked it.

Stiles hummed and took down a few notes. 

“Um.”

Stiles looked up, his finger resting on his lip in an obscene way.  Derek couldn’t look away and a red heat began to color Stiles’s pale skin. 

“Wow, I just did that in front of you.”  Stiles blinked a few times in shock and then began to spit words in a rapid fire.  “Okay.  See, now I have to explain the significance of _this_ book.  Because I could find where that one flower is native just about anywhere.  Like the internet _is_ a wonderful place for the most part.  It would be even more wonderful if I had full access to the SIU database, but I don’t.  So, this book.  This book doesn’t just detail poisonous plants and their origins.  It can tell me in pretty good detail what they smell and taste like thanks to the magical properties mixed in with the soil of those areas.  See, blue sections mean normal areas.  Soil there is going to taste like soil there.  Purple sections of soil are going to have a magic tinge which each has a distinct flavor.  And I’m trying to pick the one that matches. Which, could, again, help figure out the whole situation and-”

“Stiles,” Derek interjected.  Stiles snapped his mouth closed. 

“Sorry.  I do that sometimes.  Ramble.  I.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek frowned, going back to his laptop and pointedly not looking at Stiles. 

Stiles shut the book and closed his soil sample.  “I should go.  I think I have enough information to figure it out now.”

“You could come back.” Derek blurted.

Stiles looked at him like a deer in headlights, his bright brown eyes wide and confused. 

“I mean, maybe not.  Since you don’t want to be seen here,” Derek said, unable to hide the strange bitterness to his voice.  He couldn’t understand what the aversion was to him and his family.  He figured he’d have to ask Boyd now and get a straight answer.  “But, I wouldn’t mind, um, seeing you again.”

“Are you,” Stiles stuttered, still frozen like a faun.  “Are you asking me out?  Or like a friend date.  Either’s cool,” he rushed to add.  “Just.  I’m a little confused.  I thought you didn’t really like me.  I mean, you wouldn’t even trust me enough to borrow a library book.  Which, okay, I kind of understand because Mrs. Marshall at the library can be _mean_ but.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said, cutting Stiles off from rambling again.  “But, I,” he shrugged, “I don’t mind.  Being.  Around  you.  Which you can ask anyone at the café, is a big feat.”

Stiles laughed, smiling brilliantly for one shining moment before it fell away completely.  “I can’t.  Or, I shouldn’t.”  He scrunched his forehead in a way that made Derek want to come over there and take his pain away.  Stiles sighed full bodily.  “It’s not you.  It’s this stupid town.  I just want to be normal.  I just want them to think that I’m normal.”

“And hanging around a werewolf would ruin that?” Derek snapped, suddenly angry and surprised to hear that kind of prejudice. 

“What?  No!  My best friend’s a werewolf.  Everyone around here knows that.  It’s just.  Look.”  Stiles shrugged and stepped back a few paces.  “The townsfolk like you guys.  The older people all knew your family and there’s a collective sense of taking care of you in their stead, it takes a village, et cetra, et cetra.  They just want to protect you from me.”

“Why?” Derek asked, still confused and nothing getting any clearer.  “What do you do?”

“I ruin lives,” Stiles said solemnly, and then slipped out the door.      


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles frowned at his phone.  He sat across from Deaton going over his findings on the soil and Deaton was mapping out how best to break the connection.  Stiles, however, was distracted by the latest Knitting Circle update.  A simple post saying Stiles was at the vet’s again, followed by a string of comments.

_This is the third time in a month.  He doesn’t even have a pet!_

_Deaton is probably his next victim.  If he’s staying in town I might find a new vet._

_Deaton used to work for the Hales, and now his sister does.  That boy is sneaky._

_I don’t think things are his fault, but he should know better by now.  I love the Sheriff but his son is a bad omen._

_Oh please.  Those things are definitely his fault.  I feel sorry for the Sheriff, having that boy in his life, especially after everything that happened to his wife._

_If you guys don’t shut up I’ll find a way to punch you all in the face, and I won’t hold back xoxo E. Reyes_

There were no more comments after that, but he could practically hear the unwritten words of people who still wanted to drop their two cents.

He hated these  people, he really did.  They made everything worse when he was still just a scared kid.  It had made his whole life difficult. 

“Why did I come back?” he asked Deaton, staring idly out the window.  He wasn’t sure if he was expecting an answer, but he got one.

“You were born here,” Deaton said simply.  “A spark is drawn to places of power; all magical things are.  But to be born on the land fueled by a nemeton, that’s enough to keep you here indefinitely.  You could, in theory, settle down at another nemeton, but your life began here.  And with your power, you will always be drawn to it.”

Stiles let his head roll back.  It made sense.  Against all logic, he had always wanted to call this place home. 

X

“Who’s hat is that?” Boyd asked as he sat in the recliner with a bag of chips.  There was a football game on that Boyd was invested in on TV.  Boyd was watching at Derek’s because he was still under the first two month supervision period Laura was enforcing. 

Derek looked down to the burgundy beanie that was resting carefully next to his laptop.  He couldn’t say it was his.  Even if Derek wore hats, Boyd had proven himself to be the quickest at picking out different scents of the new betas.  He sighed, saving the progress on his novel.

“Some kid named Stiles.”

“Stilinski?” Boyd balked.  “Erica said he tried to borrow a book from you and that Laura seemed excited.  You didn’t actually have him over here, did you?”

“Yeah, why?”

Boyd rolled his eyes.  “I know Erica likes him, but Stiles always gave me the creeps.  I know it’s been a while since high school but that level of spaztic and negative energy doesn’t just go away.  Not for a magic user in this town.”

Derek frowned.  He tried not to grab at the hat.  He had carried the hat with him, hanging out around the café and library to try and maybe run into Stiles again.  He had even voluntarily stayed at the Midnight Brew much longer than he otherwise would have.  Cora made fun of him if he was still there when her shift started.

“Why,” Derek started, thinking back to all the talk about Stiles being unwelcome in this town, “why do people not like Stiles?  He seems mostly normal to me.”

“You don’t know?” Boyd asked, surprised. 

Derek shook his head.    “I left town when I was fifteen.  Haven’t been back since.  Not interested in local history gossip.” 

Boyd huffed in amusement.  “And you’re interested now because?” he asked, all too knowingly.

Derek rolled his eyes.  “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Boyd smirked, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth.  He muted the TV, which was still playing the tail end of an earlier game.  “It started back in fourth grade.”

“Wait, seriously?  That’s not just Erica spouting off at the mouth?”

Boyd frowned.  “No.  It’s a, uh, long history.” 

The door to Derek’s loft opened and Cora raced in.  “Am I late?  Did it start?”

“Nah, you’re good,” Boyd said.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked. 

Cora rolled her eyes and shucked off her jacket.  “Uh, the game.  Our teams are playing against each other and I need to be here for every second of shoving it in Boyd’s face.  Switched shifts with Laura.”

“Glad to see you two are getting along,” Derek huffed, shoving Stiles’s beanie into his pocket.  “If you’re here, I’m going to go.”

“Why?” Cora asked, unmuting the TV and already too distracted to care whether or not her brother was staying.

“He’s going to question a source,” Boyd said with a smirk.  “I’m sure it’s just for a book.”

“Fuck you,” he muttered, fully aware that the other two could hear him.

Derek felt like a creep as he used his nose to track Stiles down.  It brought him to a pretty standard neighborhood and a nice mid-size family home.  Before Derek even reached the porch, the front door swung open.  Stiles looked frantic, whiskey eyes blown wide in panic.

“Derek!” he hissed.  “What the hell are you doing here?”

He looked around quickly before grimacing and ushering him inside.  “Hurry up if you’re going to bother me here.  Come on.”

Derek stepped in, confused.  “I, uh, wanted to return your hat,” Derek said as Stiles shut the door behind them both.  He pulled the hat out of his pocket and Stiles looked at him as if he were crazy.

“Seriously.  A _hat_.”  Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation and stormed away.  Derek noted that, even now wearing just a plaid shirt over some graphic tee, Stiles still wore his fingerless gloves.  Derek hesitantly followed Stiles deeper into the house. 

Stiles had his nose to his phone and appeared as well as smelled mortified and upset.  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, scrolling through something before looking up.  “Just.  Just set the hat down.  Is there anything else you need?”  He sat down at the kitchen table, toying with his phone again until it buzzed and he angrily silenced it. 

Derek stepped back, unsure of what he was doing there or why he was so stupidly drawn to this man.  He was worse than a teenager by no other fact than he was thirty.  “How old are you?” Derek asked. 

Stiles looked taken aback.  “What?  Twenty-six.  Why?”

Derek shrugged.  “I just.  You look young.”

Stiles snorted and shook his head, some of the tension bleeding out of him to be replaced by resigned exhaustion.  “Yeah, I’m a regular _21 Jump Street_.”  Stiles tossed his phone on the table, ran his scratchy gloved hands over his eyes and looked up at Derek with utter exhaustion.  “Sorry.  I don’t mean to snap at you, I’m just tired.  I was up all night working with Deaton.” 

“The mystery magical poison?” Derek asked, sliding into a seat across from Stiles.

Stiles sighed.  “Yeah.  Do you want coffee or something?” Stiles asked, standing again and crossing to the kitchen.  “I need coffee.”

“Uh, sure.”  Derek didn’t know how he went from barely welcomed to being made coffee, but he wasn’t going to question it too hard.  At least, not out loud. 

Asking why Stiles was apparently a social pariah was at the tip of his tongue, but every time he looked at the kid all Derek could see was the lines of tension running across his shoulders and in his jaw.  He thought back to the jumpy way Stiles answered the door and quickly rushed him inside.  The way he scowled at his phone.  Even now as it lit up with another alert.  Derek supposed the tension probably came from being a social pariah. 

Derek looked around.  The house was tidy and simple, homey.  There was a stack of newspapers by the trash and the end table in the living room had a half empty glass of what smelled like cranberry juice.  Between the glass and the lamp sat a book.

“Is that _Smoke and Ashes_?” Derek asked.

“Huh?” Stiles asked, bringing the coffee over.  He looked to the living room and smiled, something real on the guy’s face for maybe the first time since Derek met him.  “Oh, yeah.  Great book.  You’ve read it?”

“Yeah.  It’s been a while, though,” Derek said, trying to read Stiles’s face.  _Smoke and Ashes_ was Derek’s first novel, under the pen name D. H. Silas, having switched his last and middle name. 

“I love that book,” Stiles said, relaxing a bit more now that the subject was on something he seemed to like.  Derek tried not to react to the unknowing praise.  “I was going through some bad shit the first time I read it and, I don’t know.  It helped get me through.  The main character, Bryson, he was just so broken.”

Derek tried not to groan.  Bryson was the epitome of an insert character.  He had essentially written an allegory of his life up to that point.  Bryson lost his family in a tragic accident that was practically his fault.  He had a hard time connecting with people.  He had two people that stuck by him even as he blamed himself for everything.  Derek hated who he had been after the fire that killed most of his pack, and he expressed that in his first book.  

“But the author never tried to fix him,” Stiles continued with reverence.  “There was no grand gesture, no love interest, no discovering what was missing from his life.  Instead, Bryson just continues on his life as normal.  He changes, but because he grows.  You know?”

“Uh,” Derek said, not sure what Stiles meant.  “I don’t really remember.”

Derek didn’t even like his first novel.  He thought the plot was too slow and there wasn’t enough character growth.  But, Derek was basically writing his autobiography under different names and a twist of events.  He hadn’t grown at all.

“By the end of it, he’s still broken,” Stiles said with a smile.  “But he’s better.  He’s talking more and he’s showing how he cares to the people he cares about, and I don’t know.”  Stiles shrugged and took a long sip of his coffee.  “I thought it was kind of beautiful that an author didn’t feel the need to fix someone, but give enough hope that he’s getting better.  And all because of himself.  It gave me hope.”

“Oh,” Derek said, stunned.  He had written that.  He had probably read it a million times.  It was good enough to get him published but even his editor agrees it’s not one of his best works by a long shot.  It was just a way to express himself, like self-prescribed therapy.  “Cool.” 

Derek immediately felt like an idiot, but he panicked and didn’t know what else to say.  Here Stiles was, not praising his writing per say, but saying his writing had _gotten him through_ and _gave him hope_ and the way the character grew was _beautiful._ It was sounding like the best review he’d ever gotten.  Derek didn’t know what else to think let alone say.

An awkward silence settled between them and Derek drank some of the coffee.  He was warm and tasted of hazelnut.  It wasn’t as good as Laura’s, but it was still good.

“What have you learned about the thing with Deaton?” Derek asked, grasping for any subject change he could think of.

Stiles’s face changed drastically again.  The casual features sharped to something more professional and detached.  “The plant came from Arizona.  It was a breed of foxglove that only people like me can grow.”

“People like you?” Derek asked.

“Oh.  Uh, a Spark.  I’m used to people knowing,” he said with a wry smile.  He smelled sad, suddenly. 

Derek had known at the back of his head that Stiles was a Spark, but Derek didn’t know magic users the way he knew shifters.  He wasn’t quite sure what a Spark was. 

Stiles must have caught the confusion on Derek’s face because his smile turned a little more amused.  “You don’t know much about me, do you?”

“Not really, no,” Derek admitted.  “People have called you a magic user, but what’s the difference between a Spark and a Druid?”

Stiles looked at him with an assessing gaze.  “It has to do with the nature of our magic.  A druid –”  Stiles was interrupted by the frantic repetitive ringing of the doorbell.  “Hold on, it’s probably…” he trailed off, getting to his feet and smelling bitter with disappointment, frustration, and resignation. 

As Stiles headed to the front door, Derek took a moment to ponder why he was so in tune with the near stranger’s emotions.  As a born wolf, he had a more acute sense of smell than a bitten, but only due to the number of years he has under his belt.  It’s like learning a new language as a kid rather than an adult.  But Derek couldn’t ignore the fact that he was more aware of Stiles than any other person he’d met in a long time.

Laura was right.  He always fell quick and hard. 

“Is Derek Hale in there?” he heard a scratchy old woman snap. 

Stiles sighed.  “Yes, Mrs. Callaway.” 

“Why is he here?  Derek!” she called into the house.  “Are you safe?”

Derek stood up from the table in confusion. 

“Derek came over to return something I forgot at his place,” Stiles said, almost like a challenge.  “So I offered him coffee.”

“I saw the way you rushed him in here,” Mrs. Callaway hissed.  “If this is some of your voodoo –”

“I don’t do voodoo, Mrs. Callaway,” he said sternly. 

Derek turned into the main hall.  Mrs. Callaway spotted him, her head popping out of her green coat giving the impression of a snapping turtle.  “Come on, Derek.  You have no reason to be here with him,” she said as if Stiles were poison.  “I insist on making sure you get to your car without accident.  I have sage on me,” she said, as if that meant anything. 

Stiles rolled his eyes and backed away from the door.  “You might as well go.  She’ll stand there all day if you don’t.”

Derek looked between Stiles, who looked to be shutting down, his face an angry neutral, and the old woman outside, clutching her purse like a talisman. 

He didn’t want to go.  He wanted to talk to Stiles more.  But, he also didn’t want this woman harassing Stiles anymore.  “Right.  Um,” he turned to Stiles.  “Thanks for the coffee.  If you need any help with the foxglove situation, let me know.”

“I’m not sure how you could help, but thanks.  And thank you, for bringing my hat back.”

Derek nodded left, wishing he could say something more.  He looked instead to Mrs. Callaway.  “That was very rude.  I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

He tried to walk past her and get to his car quickly, but he didn’t miss her saying, “That’s what they all think.”

Derek wasn’t sure if that was about her being rude or people being able to take care of themselves. 

X

Stiles holed himself up in his old room with a whole pot of mac & cheese.  The alerts kept coming in about the recent gossip.  Derek Hale had been at the Stilinski house.  Stiles had been at Derek Hale’s place before that.  Scott and his dad both texted him to make sure everything was all right, wondering why Derek was there.  Making sure nothing had happened to Derek as much as nothing happening to Stiles.

He got another text and Stiles went to turn his phone off for the night, despite it only being 6:30, when he saw it came from an unknown number.  He had a split second of panic that he was going to have to change his number, that the people posting ugly comments on the Knitting Circle found a way to contact him directly.

_I’m serious about the foxglove.  I want to help._

Stiles frowned at his screen.  _Derek?_

_I got your number from Isaac.  
He said people do that to you a lot.  It’s why you left after high school?_

_Yeah.  
I’m used to it._

_It’s inappropriate.  
You deserve better._

_You don’t know that._

_Yeah I do._

Stiles smiled at his phone.  He wasn’t sure how he attracted the attention of Derek Hale, the hottest man he’d ever spoken to.  He wasn’t sure why Derek was so insistent on talking with him when everything Stiles had ever heard about the guy was that he kept to himself and was usually very abrasive.  He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with the one guy in all of Beacon Hills he should probably stay away from.  But, despite everything, Stiles didn’t want to stay away.

_Do you want to meet up sometime?  Outside of Beacon Hills?_

Stiles was so fucked. 


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles scooped his fry into the banana split shake he ordered before popping it into his mouth.  He turned away with a reluctant smile.  The question as to why Stiles had asked Derek down here was at the tip of his tongue, but Derek kept getting distracted by the golden amber eyes and his sharp wit.

Derek had already been waiting in the parking lot of the 50s styled diner Stiles had picked out when the recognizable blue jeep pulled in.  Stiles had jumped out, already on a rant about traffic people not pulling over for emergency vehicles.  Conversation, which was mostly Stiles talking but Derek didn’t mind, then morphed to the pile up on the I-5 last month, to dogs, to whether or not Derek could do a full shift (he could).

Stiles seemed to be enjoying himself, relaxed in a way Derek had never seen him before.  It was a good look.  So, every time Derek thought to ask about why they were meeting up for lunch two towns over from Beacon Hills, why that neighbor felt the need to walk Derek to his car the other day, why Stiles was afraid to stay at Laura’s coffee shop for longer than 2 minutes, Derek would get distracted by a smile or a laugh or a funny comment and just.  Not want to disturb the moment.

“My friend Scotty’s a werewolf,” Stiles said, scooping another fry into his shake.  “Bitten, so he’ll never get the full shift, but he’s some sort of true alpha bullshit.  Just, became an alpha, sheer force of will.”

Derek nodded.  “Yeah, they used to be thought a lot rarer than they actually are.  Once every hundred years.  Really, it’s more like five percent of any given generation.  Since alpha status can be lost to the world completely by being killed by a non-werewolf or burning it out trying to pull out a magical sickness, it’s a way for nature to make sure there’s always enough alphas.”

“Huh.  Good to know.  I can shove it in his face the next time he brings it up,” Stiles grinned.  “I’m surprised I hadn’t learned that before.  But because I can’t be an emissary, my education was less werewolf oriented.”

“What did you study?”  Derek wanted to ask what the Academy was for, but didn’t want to give away that he had facebook stalked Stiles.

“Criminology and interspecies relations in undergrad.”

“Well that’s significantly more impressive than English,” Derek snorted.  It’s what he had studied. 

“Nah, man, English is hard.  I took my requirement freshman year and the amount of reading was intense.”

Derek smiled.  “Yeah.  It got to the point that I was just reading a book, writing a paper, and then a week later I couldn’t tell you what the plot was.”

“What do you do with an English degree?” Stiles asked with a smirk.  “Teach?”

“Um, actually,” Derek started, unsure how to tell Stiles he wrote the book Stiles loves so much.

Of course, he doesn’t have to figure out the words.  Because, of course, they get interrupted.  Again.

Derek is staring at Stiles and barely hears the indignant gasp coming from someone at the front door.  He doesn’t assume the thunder footsteps are heading towards them in this crowded little diner.  And even as a little old woman stands at their table, it takes a few moments to register that she is in fact addressing Stiles with her furious rant.

“-sneaking him out of town.   Luring him away from his pack.  You should be ashamed of yourself.”  She continues on, her face the shade of a tomato.

Stiles slumps into his booth, shutting down in such a way that Derek wanted to leap up and defend, protect.

“Excuse me,” Derek said, a low rumble in his chest to accompany his glare and the canines that were threatening to pop out.  “If you could _please_ stop harassing my friend.”

“Friend!” the old woman sputtered.  “Deary, he is not your _friend._ He is-”

“A much better person than you are,” Derek snapped.

The old woman held her hand up to her chest.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles gape and blush.  Derek wished he could turn to look, but he wanted to scare this woman away.

“Now, Deary, we try our best not to remind you of the tragedy you and your sisters faced, but _that man,_ ” she spat, pointing a boney old finger at Stiles, “is the reason you lost your family.”

Derek couldn’t help his eyes flash an electric blue, reacting in anger at the woman’s intensity.  But after that, Derek couldn’t help but blink in confusion.  “You’re right,” he said, trying to ignore the way Stiles’s face fell, “I don’t like to be reminded of how my family died.  But I don’t know where you’re getting your information about it, because my house was burned down by Kate Argent.  It was premeditated.  Our house was ringed with mountain ash and the fire was designed to look like an electrical accident.  No magic involved.  She’s recently been arrested and is serving time in Montana, after being caught burning to death her fifth pack.”

The woman looked so taken aback it would have been comical if not for all the attention the rest of the diner was giving their table.  She looked between him and Stiles, seemingly frozen in place like a crashed computer screen.  Derek pulled out his wallet and threw down a number of notes, more than enough to cover the bill, and slid out of the booth.  “Come on, Stiles.”

He was almost to the door when he finally heard Stiles scrambling out of the booth.  Derek waited by his car, waving Stiles over.  “Get in,” he said.

“I have a car,” Stiles said, pointing to his jeep. 

“I know.  I’ll bring you back for it.  Come on.”  Derek slid into his Camaro and waited for Stiles to do the same.  Once they were buckled up, Derek drove off. 

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked, quiet in a way Derek had never heard him speak before.

“There’s a good picnic spot nearby.  I just want to get away.”

Derek finally found the words to say once he parked the car.  He waited until they got out and were headed to the deserted tables.   “Why did she think you killed my family?”

Stiles sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck.  “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” Derek said.

So, sitting across from each other, Stiles told him. 

When Stiles was in fourth grade, his mom died.  She had been losing her mind.  Some rare disease that chews away at the brain.  Claudia would forget things, then see things.  It later got out that she was convinced that Stiles was trying to kill her.  That he was a monster. 

A year later the Hale Pack fire happened.  This was a tragic event in the community, but not linked to Stiles.  Everyone thought it was a sad accident.

A year later, Stiles’s spark presented itself.  He had a hard time controlling his new abilities.  When he got emotional things would literally spark.  Sometimes it looked like lightning.  Other times things would catch on fire.  There was a time in middle school where Stiles’s friend Scott was being bullied.  Part of a classroom caught on fire.  No one died, but there were a few bad injuries. 

People started to wonder if Stiles had something to do with the Hale House.  They couldn’t be convinced that he didn’t present until a year later.  That he had never been around the Hales, even if he did have that skill earlier. 

Then in high school Scott got bit by a rogue werewolf.  Then also was his friend Lydia, the young banshee Stiles took special afterschool courses with.  Stiles wasn’t just a fire starter anymore.  He was a bad luck charm.  They started saying Stiles was the reason Claudia died.  Which, of course, lead to another big fire.

Stiles seemed to be at every negative supernatural event in town.  He was at the rave a kanima killed someone.  A kanima that ended up being Jackson Whittemore, Lydia’s boyfriend who had also been bit by the rogue werewolf.  The murder victim was Stiles’s mechanic. 

No one seemed to focus on the fact that some kid named Matt was the one controlling Jackson or that Stiles had actually helped Jackson transform into a werewolf.  They didn’t care that Stiles helped make sure Scott never became an omega and had control during the full moons even without a proper pack.  They say the negative and refused to look at anything else.   

It was when his dad was suspended from his job that Stiles knew he had to leave.

Stiles went away for college and never came back.   

“Until now, that is,” Stiles sighed.  “I wish I hadn’t.”

“I’m glad you did,” Derek admitted.

Stiles looked him over.  He smelled of nerves, confusion reading on his face.  “Why?”

Derek shrugged.  How do you tell someone you’ve met a total of five times that you were maybe stupid for them?

Stiles seemed to get it anyway, by the way his mouth turned up and looked away shyly.  Stiles cleared his throat.  “Thanks.  For standing up for me,” Stiles said.  “Sometimes it feels as if even Scott and my dad worry that bad things follow me.  The first time I did magic after coming back my dad looked scared even though he knows I haven’t had an incident since high school.”

“People who know I’m a werewolf tend to be extra cautious around a full moon.  Doesn’t matter that I’m born.  People hear one bad story, or worse they experience something bad, and two things become forever associated.  Although the old ladies around here take it to the next level.”

Stiles laughed, light tears glistening at the corner of his eyes.  “Yeah, they’re something else.”

They lulled into a comfortable silence.  Stiles played with a fraying string of his fingerless gloves and Derek took the time to revel in his scent. 

“Why did you ask me out today?” Derek finally asked. 

Stiles smiled.  “I don’t know.  You were kind of a dick about the library book.  But maybe I liked that about you.” 

X

Stiles drove home, thinking over the time he spent with Derek and the subsequent texts he got from Scott and his dad about the confrontation at the diner.  That old woman wasn’t the only Knitting Circle gossiper at the place and someone had recorded the entire interaction. 

There was a whole online thing going on about what Stiles was and wasn’t accountable for.  Erica had promised to punch a few more people and Isaac had left a comment detailing the time Stiles had accidentally broken a lamp with his spark and cried about it.  He had been eleven, sue him. (He had been sixteen, but Stiles will deny that.)

Laura had texted Derek before they left the picnic area asking why so many old ladies were asking if it was true that Kate Argent had killed their family (after apologizing for having to bring up the topic at all).  After being redirected to the Knitting Circle page, Laura posted that anyone caught antagonizing Stiles for something he clearly hadn’t done would not be allowed into her shop. 

The post had ended in: HE WAS TEN!  FOR FUCKS SAKE DID YOU REALLY THINK A TEN YEAR OLD COMMITED PRE-MEDITATED MURDER???  YOU’RE ALL PIECES OF SHIT.

And he and Derek had a date set up for tomorrow.  He felt giddy.  Straight up rom-com levels of smiling loon.  Which fell right off his face the moment he turned onto his street.  Even from halfway up the street, he could see the red paint across their garage door.

He slowed down before turning into his drive, completely shocked that things had gone this far.  _Get Out Spit!!!_

Spit.  He hadn’t heard that since high school.  It’s what Jackson had called him after he presented.  It was what his English teacher called him after the classroom burned down.  It’s the casual remark that people never said around the Sheriff. 

Stiles hated everything about his situation, but he was always glad his situation never hurt the Sheriff’s standing with the citizen.  Elected position and all that.  Except for that one time.  A part of Stiles thought maybe the town believed his dad kept him in line and that Stiles would be worse if John wasn’t the Sheriff. 

But here someone had tagged the Sheriff’s house.  It didn’t matter anymore.  They hated him that much.

Stiles stood in front of the garage.  A swell of tears hit him.  He wondered if he could wash it off or if he needed paint. 

He was mindlessly scrubbing the still wet paint when his phone rang in his pocket.  Stiles pulled his phone out and saw Deaton’s name.

“Hello?” Stiles answered, cell wedged between his ear and shoulder as he squeezed the sponge out.  It looked like blood in his bucket.

“You need to get to the preserve.  Now.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles rushed to the grove of foxglove.  The surveillance Stiles had set up hadn’t been triggered yet and he and Deaton had spent a whole night cutting the magical ties between the new plants and their old land.  Deaton had been going back to help make sure the imbalance of energy smoothed out.  

As he pulled up to the preserve, Stiles could already feel the shift.  The energy from the foxglove and the foreign magical soil wasn’t being nicely smoothed over by the local nemeton.  The land’s power was going into full on attack mode.  It had sensed a threat and was acting in kind.  The parasite wasn’t taking over, but it still did its own worth of damage. 

“Shit.”

Stiles found Deaton quickly enough.  The older man, for all his wisdom and skill, looked utterly lost. 

“If I try to use this energy it could tear me to shreds,” Deaton said.  The vet was gifted in seeing auras in a way Stiles could only feel the general vibe of.  He was much more in tune with nature than Stiles, as well, in the fact that his was druidic magic. 

“What does this mean about the spark we’re trying to catch?” Stiles asked.  He squatted in front of one of the plants.  It was dead, all life sucked out of it.

“Their power was mixed in with the foxglove.  But whether or not we broke that bond when separating the soil from its Arizonian magic, who knows,” Deaton said.  “The nemeton could be attacking the spark as much as the plant.”

Stiles carefully pulled out one of the flowers, trying to pull all of its roots with it.  “So, we have to act fast to find whoever did this before the town tries to kill them?”

Deaton didn’t answer, merely looked around the clearing, seeing things Stiles couldn’t.

“I wish I knew what they wanted the foxglove for,” Stiles said, running his hands along the dead roots. 

“Whatever it is, they won’t get a chance to use it.”

“Small miracles,” Stiles agreed.

Something was happening here.  Something he didn’t understand.  There was the Spark’s Foxglove from Arizona and no sign of the spark that planted it.  The nemeton was reacting much more violently than it has in the past to threats.  Whoever did this was planning something.  Figuring out what could help lessen the negative impact from the nemeton. 

“Have you checked out the stump?” Stiles asked, his feet already leading him to the heart of the forest.

Deaton silently followed.  When Stiles reached the clearing where a once giant tree stood, they both froze.  From the petrified tree stump that all lines of energy in Beacon Hills crossed, a new sprout of green was climbing towards the sun.

“Stiles,” Deaton spoke softly, as if afraid the forest was listening, “I suggest you call your friends at the SIU.”

X

Erica nearly screamed in delight when Derek walked into the Midnight Brew.  “Oh my god, Derek.  You are _vicious_.  How calmly you told that lady to fuck herself.”

Derek scrunched his brow in confusion.  “What?”

“Um, the video.” Erica said, as if Derek were being purposefully obtuse.  “You and Stiles, in a diner, some crabby bitch spouting nonsense.  You putting her in her place like the chilliest mother fucker around.”

“I-,” Derek started, his brain trying to keep up with Erica’s rambling.  “Video?”

Erica pulled out her phone and seconds later he watched the entire interaction that happened only hours ago.  Derek took her phone and scrolled the rest of the webpage.  It was the Knitting Circle he had heard Erica talk about a few times, but had never bothered to check out.

When Laura had texted, Stiles was the one to suggest checking out the blog.  He figured it would already be documented.  But Derek hadn't expected this.

There were posts about a chem teacher getting caught with an underage girl, who was dating who in the 30-50 age range in town, the high schooler who got a football scholarship to USC, some woman named Lydia Martin who they were following all the way out in Boston for whatever reason.  And Stiles.  More than half the posts were about Stiles.  Where he was in town.  Who he was spotted with.  How long he stayed each place.  Why he might be there. 

This is what Stiles was living with and Derek had no idea.

“Whoa there, Der,” Erica said, snatching her phone back.  “Calm down, will you?”

It was then Derek realized he was growling, a low rumble deep in his chest.  These people pissed him off.  He didn’t understand, even knowing what he did now, he couldn’t comprehend the near mob mentality of these people.  Derek thought about all the times Stiles looked at his phone, smelling hurt or angry.  It made Derek’s blood boil.

“Laura’s already kicked someone out today for being a jerk.  So don’t worry.  We’ll keep your boy safe.”

“He’s not ‘my boy’,” Derek mumbled, stealing a cookie off of the platter. 

Erica smirked and didn’t comment on the cookie, so Derek took that as a win.  She scrolled through her phone again and frowned.  “Well, shit.”

“What?”

“Someone tagged his house.  A couple of deputies just picked up Jessica Winkler, my old babysitter.  She’s like, 36.  People are so fucking dumb.”

“Someone tagged his home?” Derek asked in disbelief. 

Erica nodded.  “Neighbors report that Stiles started scrubbing it off before getting a phone call and running away somewhere.” 

Derek frowned, worried.  He pulled out his phone and texted Stiles, just to make sure everything was okay.  He wondered if this was related to whatever was going on with the foxglove. 

He didn’t get a response from Stiles, no matter how often he nervously checked his phone.  Derek did, however, get a response from Erica.

“Spotted at the 7 Eleven,” she said in between coffee orders while Derek ate his third free muffin.  Erica gave him a side eye that could match either of his sisters.  It made Derek shudder with the possibilities.  “Well?” She asked after serving the last person in line.  “You just going to sit there or what?”

Derek hated that she knew him so well already.  She was spending too much time with Cora.

Derek got up and walked out of the café.  The 7 Eleven was only a couple of blocks away.

X

Stiles stood at the counter waiting for his king size Reese’s and bottle of orange Gatorade to be rung up.  His hands shook as he pulled out a five.  He and Deaton had spent an hour setting up wards and traps around the foxglove and nemeton stump.  He was drained. 

Worse was the information his Academy friend, Kira, gave him.  They had gotten to know each other when they found out that Stiles was from Beacon Hills and Kira’s mom worked at Beacon Hills Hospital before moving to New York and meeting her dad.  It turned out that Mrs. Yukimura and Scott’s mom were once friends. 

The call wasn’t for catching up, though.  It was for knowledge.  And what knowledge Kira gave him had Stiles shaking even if he hadn’t drained so much of his power. 

Something was coming.  Something bad.  Or worse.  It was already here. 

It turned out that the reason the nemeton tree had been cut down was due to a dark spirit Kira’s mom once trapped in its roots.  Deaton knew that much.  What Deaton didn’t know was how to stop it.  Learning about the nogitsune from Kira did nothing to help settle Stiles’s fears.  She and her partner were on their way to help out with the situation.  With backup close behind if necessary.

The fact that this issue needed the SIU at all worried Stiles. 

As the cashier handed Stiles a couple of coins in change, the door to the 7 Eleven beeped, announcing someone’s entrance.

Stiles turned and was somehow not surprised to see Derek. There was a split second where the werewolf froze and looked Stiles over before Derek sped towards him.  “What’s wrong?” Derek demanded. 

Stiles nodded his head to the entrance and bid Derek to follow him outside.  “Did you walk here?” Stiles asked when he didn’t see a flashy black car in the parking lot. 

“The Brew’s not that far,” Derek shrugged.  “What’s wrong?” he asked again, softer this time.

Stiles sighed and looked upwards.  The sky was a clear blue.  He wondered how come he felt so comfortable around Derek.  As if they had known each other forever.

“What if I am a bad luck charm?”

“What?”

Stiles let out a shaky breath.  “What if they’re right?  What if, somehow, I cause bad things to happen?”

“You don’t really believe that,” Derek said, incredulous. 

Stiles didn’t say anything.  He couldn’t.  A part of him always wondered if they were right.  A part of him always had blamed himself for his mother’s death, long before the town did.  Guilt chewed away at him for everyone who got hurt around him. 

And now, just as he returns to Beacon Hills, something happens to bring a spirit of chaos and destruction to the town.

He wipes at his eyes, catching tears before they fall.  “I just, there’s no way to know, is there?”

“Give me your keys,” Derek said firmly but kindly.  “I’m taking you home.”

Stiles cringed, remembering the paint on the garage door.  He’d have to call his dad, ask him to pick up paint. 

“Would you feel more comfortable at my place?” Derek asked, clearly picking up on Stiles’s distress.

“I-,” Stiles frowned, looking at him.  Their eyes caught and Stiles swallowed his words.  Derek was looking at him with such force, his pale hazel eyes shining with the light of the setting sun.  “Derek.”

They stood there, three slow breaths between them.  “Give me your keys,” Derek said gently, the tips of his fingers nudging Stiles’s hand. 

In a daze, Stiles reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys.  They rode back to Derek’s loft in silence, swells of emotion hitting Stiles randomly. 

“You’re not the cause of this,” Derek whispered at some point.  “It’s illogical.”

“It’s magic,” Stiles replied numbly. 

“It’s not you.”

Stiles wanted to believe that.  He wanted to.  He didn’t respond, only eating his candy and waited to reach Derek’s home.

X

Derek didn’t know what else to say.  It had been a long day for them both.  He had only just learned of all the emotional turmoil Stiles had been subjected to over the years.  Derek was helpless to convince him otherwise.  An outsider never gets it, that was the mentality. 

Derek had always pushed people away, struggling with his own faults and failures, his own crushing weight of guilt and refusing to listen to the advice others had for him.  It was writing _Smoke and Ashes_ and a couple of years of extensive therapy that helped Derek believe he wasn’t 100% responsible for the murder of his family.  But he understood, because even now a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault. 

He was naïve and mourning.  He let the wrong person in.  He subsequently refused to let anyone else in for a long time, despite dating after the fire.  Derek couldn’t just turn around and tell Stiles that things aren’t his fault and expect it to change anything.

In Derek’s loft, he directed Stiles to the couch and went to make the mugs of hot chocolate.  Setting the steaming beverage in front of Stiles, it was hard to imagine that only earlier that day they had been laughing over milkshakes.

Derek sat down next to Stiles and said the only thing that came to his mind.  “I dated her.”

“What?” Stiles asked, looking up with owlish eyes.

“Kate,” Derek said, swallowing hard.  “I dated her.  I was fifteen and she was, I don’t know, twenty-three, I think.  She was working as the pool lifeguard after school, and I liked to swim.”

“Derek,” Stiles whispered.  So much feeling was behind that word that Derek couldn’t even look at him. 

“I was seeing someone else at the time.  This girl, Paige.  She died, in a car crash.  And I was such a wreck after that I let.  I let Kate.”  He couldn’t finish he thought. 

Stiles’s scratchy-gloved hand covered his, the tips of his fingers burning against Derek’s skin, and squeezed. 

Derek turned to look at Stiles.  He was closer than Derek had anticipated, their faces only inches apart.  Stiles pulled back a bit, startled, probably also not realizing how they had inched together. 

“Why do you always wear these?” Derek asked, his thumb running over the cheap fabric.  “Even inside.”

Stiles grimaced and pulled his hand away. Derek wanted to snatch his hand back, missing the weight of his touch.

“You know those fires I made?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded, his brain trying to connect the dots.  Even when Stiles slowly tugged off the ratty fingerless gloves, what he saw didn’t quite make sense for a moment.

His hands were covered in thick, raised red scars that trailed up into the sleeve of his shirt. 

“I couldn’t control them,” Stiles said, shucking off his outer layer of plaid.  He was wearing a tee-shirt underneath and the trail of old flames licked up his arms.  “I was at their center.”

Derek reached over, fingers hovering over the scars on his hands before looking up, asking for permission.  Stiles nodded, his face heavy and guarded.  Derek took Stiles’s hand, fingers trailing the uneven markings. 

“I would have scars like these,” Derek said.  “I – I tried to go in after them.  There was mountain ash around the house, but I could still reach the porch.  Laura had to drag me away so I could let my hands heal.”

“You get used to them,” Stiles said, his voice heavy with unshed tears. 

Derek lifted Stiles’s hand and gently pressed his lips against the marred flesh, barely a ghosting of a kiss.  Stiles’s breath caught in his throat.  Derek turned his hand over and kissed the meat of his palm, the pulse point on his wrist that still beat with strong vitality.

“Derek,” Stiles whispered again, barely breathing. 

Derek looked up, their faces even closer than before.  Stiles didn’t pull away this time.  Their breaths sat between them like frozen time.  He ran his thumb up and down Stiles’s hand.

“I want to say we shouldn’t,” Stiles said.

Derek reached up with his other hand and snaked it behind Stiles’s neck, the short hairs there surprisingly soft. 

“Why?” Derek prompted.

“We’ve only just met, really,” Stiles said, leaning in closer.  Their noses brushed against each other.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” Derek admitted.

“Me too.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, his scent filling Derek with a heady mix of spices.  Then Derek tilted his chin up and their lips met.  Soft and testing.  Stiles moved against him, their lips slotting together better.  Derek’s gripped a bit sturdier on Stiles’s neck as he felt Stiles’s free hand run up his thigh before settling on his waist.  Derek leaned back, pulling Stiles with him, until he was lying back with Stiles on top. 

They kissed, fingers intertwining. 

Stiles pulled back and rested his forehead against Derek’s collar, panting a little.  Derek ran his right hand up and down Stiles’s spine that was curved up and away from Derek’s body. 

“Can we just,” Stiles started.  “Can we just lie here?  I don’t want to sleep with you when I’m a bit of an emotional wreck.”

Derek twisted his neck to kiss whatever part of Stiles he could find, his lips brushing the tip of Stiles’s ear.  “Yeah.  Of course.”

Stiles melted against him. 

“I think I kind of like you,” Stiles laughed, his smile pressed against Derek’s neck. 

Derek chuckled, his racing heart still settling from the spike of arousal.  “Yeah.  Me too.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit Chapter Warning. If you'd like to skip, go from "Just to be clear" to the section break.

Stiles wakes up with a jolt that sends him faceplanting against the floor.  It takes him a moment to shake off the dream he was having and orient himself.  Another to realize where he is.  Derek was lying on the couch, rubbing sleep from his eyes.  Untouched mugs of hot chocolate sat on the coffee table and the barest hints of sunlight were streaming in from the giant windows lining the far wall of the loft.

Stiles rolled a kink out of his neck and stood.  He felt hollow, the way you do after a good cry, but more solid too.  Life didn’t seem as overwhelming as it had last night.  Stiles pulled on his flannel, covering up the worst of the burn scars.  They didn’t hurt, not anymore, not for years, but they were ugly and Stiles hated the stares he got. 

Derek mumbled as his sat up, his hair sleep tousled and body relaxed.

His body recalled the way Derek had touched him, gently, with reverence.  His fingers had traced up and down Stiles’s arm like a brail map as they breathed each other in.  It was calming. 

Stiles had had a love life in college, but his partners were few and far between.  People either knew about the scars and treated him like a pity fuck or didn’t know and were freaked out when they saw.  Sad to say, but most of Stiles’s intimate interactions were with strangers in night clubs who never got further than pulling his pants past his thighs. 

“Hey,” Derek said, smiling softly down at him.

Stiles felt his heart flutter.  “Hey.”

It was easy to forget the town hated him.  Or that there was an evil spirit they had to look out for.  Or the spark and had brought poison into the preserve.  Right now was just morning having fallen asleep on the couch with the nicest guy Stiles had ever kissed.

Stiles found his phone on the floor next to him, not sure when it had fallen there.  “Shit.”

“What?”

There were at least 20 missed messages from his father asking where he was.  “My dad.  I need to call him.”

Stiles stood, his phone already connecting to the right number.  His dad answered almost instantly.

_“God, Stiles.  Where are you?”_

“At a friends,” Stiles said.  “Sorry, I had a bad night and I didn’t want to come back to – shit.  Sorry.  The garage door.  I’ll paint it.”

 _“Don’t worry about it,”_ his dad said, his voice going the stern officer tone Stiles was overly familiar with.  _“I’ve decided not to press charges against Ms. Winkler under the condition she repaints everything.  By hand.”_

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles sighed, mostly relieved he didn’t have another thing to deal with.  “Wait, _Jessica_ Winkler?”

_“Yeah.”_

Stiles could only shake his head.  She had babysat him once or twice, while his mom was sick, long before his spark presented.  “People in this town are sick,” he muttered.

 _“No arguments here,”_ his dad said.  _“Now.  About this_ friend _of yours.”_

Stiles groaned and looked over to Derek, who was smirking at him, clearly listening into the whole conversation.  At this distance, Stiles wasn’t sure if he could even help it. 

 _“It wouldn’t happen to be Derek Hale, would it?”_  Stiles could hear his father’s confusion and slight amusement.

“I’m hanging up, now,” Stiles told his father.  They would be talking about this later.

Derek stalked over, looking beautifully sleep rumpled and somehow dangerous, a wicked glint in his eye.  “So,” he said, wrapping his arms around Stiles’s neck and smirking, “what plans do you have today?”

Stiles swallowed.  “Uh.”

Derek leaned down the mere centimeters difference and fixed their lips together.  Heat curled his toes. Stiles gripped at Derek’s shirt as his tongue slipped into the other man’s mouth. He couldn’t help but moan, a soft sound escaping, before he reluctantly pulled away.

“My friend Kira should be in town soon,” he panted.  “I have to meet up with her.  Explain what’s going on in the preserve.”

Derek hummed, nosing at the underside of Stiles’s jaw.  “But she’s not here yet,” Derek murmured.  The timber of his voice sent chills down Stiles’s spine.  His back arched, pushing him closer to Derek, as Derek’s lips brushed down his neck.

“No,” Stiles choked out.  “She’s not here yet.”

Derek pulled back, his face neutral with a barely concealed smugness.  “Do you want breakfast?” he asked, stepping away.  “I think I have some eggs.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s wrist.  “Derek Hale, I swear to god, I will kill you where you stand if you play games with me.”

Derek smirked, gravitating back to Stiles.  “And here I thought I was being a good host, making sure you’re well fed.”

“I’ll show you well fed,” Stiles grumbled, grabbing Derek’s face and pulling them together.  Derek growled, something low and possessive, but pleased. 

Stiles couldn’t keep his hands still.  They traveled down Derek’s broad shoulders, resting briefly on the small of his back before seeking skin under the soft Henley Derek had fallen asleep in. 

Derek was already pushing off Stiles’s plaid.  Stiles had to stop touching Derek for the briefest moment to get the offending shirt off. 

“Just to be clear,” Derek rasped, biting playfully at Stiles’s earlobe.  “You’re not emotionally compromised right now?”

“Only by my dick,” Stiles said, his hands reaching lower to get his hands on that ass.

Derek growled and ran his hands down in mirror of what Stiles had done: shoulders, back, ass, reaching further until he got a good grip on the thighs and pulled.  Stiles felt weightless as Derek lifted him into the air.  He wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, enjoying the sensations of being carried towards the bedroom. 

Stiles didn’t remember the last time he had sex in a bed.  Actually, he wasn’t sure if he ever _did_ have sex in a real bed.  Futons in the basement of a frat house did not count.  Stiles had half a mind amazing over how soft the mattress was, but all thoughts of beds and pillows and silky sheets flew out his mind once Derek was naked.

“Holy fuck, you’re hot.”

Derek smirked and he helped Stiles – who was lying on the bed, propping himself up with his elbows – out of his pants.  Once all articles of clothes were on the floor where they belonged, Derek kissed up Stiles’s leg, straying close to his inner thigh but kissing right past it to suck a hickey on Stiles’s hip.  Roaming hands skimmed over the few puckered scars on Stiles’s torso, brushing over them with reverence before quickly moving on to explore more flesh.  Stiles shuddered. 

“What do you want?” Derek asked, one hand teasing a nipple while his chin rested on Stiles’s hip. 

Stiles groaned and threw his head back.  “You can’t ask me that when your face is that close to my dick, man.”

A second later Stiles gasped, snapping his attention back to Derek who had licked up the length of his cock.  Stiles whimpered, watching Derek take him, the wet heat of his mouth better than he could imagine.  Stiles hadn’t had many blow jobs.  His type – re: broad and muscular men – often wanted to be in control in the bedroom (or, well, nightclub bathroom).  Stiles normally got fucked or sucked dick and, he loved it, he wasn’t going to lie, but this felt more than amazing too and it hadn’t happened in years.

“Derek,” he whined, breathy, as Derek hollowed out his cheeks and sucked hard.

Derek pulled off with a _pop_.  “What do you want?” he asked again, voice so low and husky Stiles thought he might die from sheer arousal.

“Just come up here and kiss me.”

Derek did as asked, sliding up his body and slotting their mouths together.  Stiles rolled his hips, seeking friction, and was rewarded with the stiff heat of Derek’s cock sliding against his.  He moaned, biting Derek’s lip.  They went like that for a short while, rutting against each other, arching into each other’s embrace, before Derek reached between them.  The weight of his grip around both of them tore a choked out sound from Stiles. 

“Fuck, Derek.”

“Maybe next time,” Derek nearly purred against his lips.

Stiles couldn’t even process that before his brain shut off completely.

He pumped the both of them.  Stiles reached down to join in, the pressure of their hands and the sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other was building up to be too much. 

“Oh, shit.  Derek,” he whined.  “Derek, _Derek._ I don’t normally – ah – ah – make things _last_.”

This only seemed to encourage Derek more, the werewolf sucking a deep bruise into his collar bone.

It wasn’t long before Stiles was spurting, his brain blanking out in pleasure.  Derek seemed more than happy to keep stroking himself, but Stiles frantically bat Derek’s hand away from their dicks, rolling them over. 

In a fluid motion, Stiles pinned Derek and slid down, taking all of Derek in his mouth.  Did Stiles mention he liked sucking cock?  He _loved_ sucking cock.  He moaned around the throbbing heat in his mouth, bobbing his head up and down while his tongue licked patterns against the straining skin.  Stiles cupped Derek’s balls, his thumb messaging the base of Derek’s dick.  A few seconds later, Derek let out a near roar as cum shot down Stiles’s throat.  He swallowed it up greedily, pulling off with satisfaction of making Derek look so completely spent.  The werewolf lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to catch his breath.

Stiles crawled up and curled against his side, ignoring the slight dampness sticking to his abdomen.  “Well,” Stiles said after a while, his breath still coming in hard.  “At least we know we’re compatible in that department.”

Derek laughed.

X

After actually fulfilling his promise of breakfast, Derek regretfully had to say goodbye to Stiles for the day. 

“After this mess gets sorted,” Stiles had promised. 

Derek wanted to help, but Laura was constantly reminding him that just because he was a werewolf didn’t mean he should throw himself into every mess they came across.  Other people were trained to handle it.  It didn’t matter that Derek was stronger than humans and most other creatures, or that he had super healing.  He was an author, not a cop.

Derek wanted to protest that Stiles wasn’t a cop either.  But magic users had a different set of rules.  Druids who became emissaries, by their very foundation, were in place to protect balance and often sought to solve problems humans couldn’t.  Stiles was a spark, and while Derek still hadn’t figured out what exactly that meant (the internet was surprisingly lacking on solid information), Stiles was still working on this case under Deaton’s request.

After a few hours of trying to write (and failing miserably because everything smelled of sex and Stiles), Derek gave up and headed down to the Midnight Brew.  He hoped neither of his sisters were working because, although he had taken a shower, he didn’t want to be teased over smelling so strongly of Stiles.

No such luck, Derek thought when he saw Laura behind the counter.  Her face, though, caught him off guard.  It was her Alpha look, the face she made when she had to negotiate with older Alphas, stronger packs.  She had no need to put up a strong front in Beacon Hills.  This was their territory, by rite and law.  Laura took her eyes off the woman in front of her when Derek walked in, his eyes grim as they caught his. 

The woman turned.  She had long black hair with soft curls.  Her face was stoic seriousness, but there was something kind behind her eyes.  Something about her seemed familiar.

“Derek,” Laura said, beckoning him over.  “This is Allison.  Allison Argent.”

X

Stiles met with Kira at the station, surprised to find she was alone. 

“My partner had a personal issue she wanted to settle coming into town.  I’m not sure when she’ll be joining us,” Kira explained.  “Your dad said that security camera you set up was triggered recently, though.  He’s getting the footage for me now.  Although, that won’t help solve our immediate problem.”

“Right,” Stiles sighed.  The nogitsune.  As far as any of them knew, it couldn’t be killed, which is why it had been trapped in the nemeton in the first place. 

“We have an idea though.  Since you called me, I’ve been going over everything with my mother, which wasn’t as helpful, while my partner dug into the archives.  She was able to find something that missed the archives.”

“How’d that happen?” Stiles asked.  The SIU archives were notorious for the extensive data and cross referencing of different sources across the globe.  The librarians were some of the best in the world. 

“Tiny scroll, size of a dime, was rolled up inside of a false pinky finger credited to some Japanese samurai in the 12th century.”

“And how did your partner know to look in _that_.” 

Kira shrugged, grinning.  “Ally’s always had a knack for reaching for the right thing, finding an answer by chance or instinct.  She’s been tested, but they can’t find any trace of her being anything but human.  It makes me think luck is a real thing that some people just have.”

The Sheriff entered the conference room Kira and Stiles were holding up in.  His face doing that thing where he scrunched all the muscles on his right side, trying to make sense of something and being mostly disturbed.

“What is it?” Stiles asked immediately.

“We’ve got a body.  The video has to wait, but it’s not like you can see much anyway.  Face was covered.  I wouldn’t normally do this, but Stiles, you can come as a consultant now that Kira’s here.  You should check the place out before my guys move him.  Parrish says the air makes him tingle, and I don’t really want to know what that means.”

“Parrish?” Kira asked.

“Deputy,” Stiles supplied.  “Hell Hound.”

“Ah.”


	7. Chapter 7

Derek sat down with Laura and Allison in the back room.  He knew Isaac could overhear if he chose to, but he didn’t think that mattered.  This didn’t need to be private from pack. 

“I’ve come into town on a case,” Allison started with, her attention on Derek.  He assumed she had already said this to Laura. “But I wanted to speak with your pack first.  I thought it would be proper.”

“Go on,” Laura said.  She had taken off her apron and retied her hair.  She already looked more powerful, something she didn’t really need.

“I know you were contacted about my aunt’s arrest,” Allison said, a tension around her mouth that betrayed her emotional control.  “Centuries ago, my family was the head of hunters, traveling across the states.  That was before they were officially abolished.  We still kept our traditions, and many of my family have joined the law to help share our knowledge and training.  Kate was an outlier.  She didn’t pass her psychological evaluation to become a cop and she thought those who worked with supernatural gained a soft spot and were unable to do the work needed.”

Derek crossed his arms.  He didn’t really care.  He didn’t want to hear about Kate and her family.  He wanted to forget as much as possible about what that woman had done to him.

“I came here to let you know that I was one of the arresting agents.  I brought her in.  And as the head of my household, I’m hoping to repair relations, what little we may or may not have had before, with all the packs Kate has harmed.”

“That’s a nice speech,” Laura said dryly, “but what do you plan on actually doing?”

Allison sat a little straighter.  She tucked a stray curl behind her ear and smiled tightly – nothing mean, just guarded.  “What Kate did,” she said, “it can’t be fixed with pretty words or money or gifts.  There is nothing I can give you that you don’t already have.  The best I can do is offer you my services.” 

Allison reached behind her neck and unclasped a necklace she wore.  As she pulled the chain from her shirt, a silver arrowhead came with it.  She placed it on the table before Laura.  Derek could make out a family crest embossed into the metal.

“Any Argent will come to your aid should you ever need it, as long as they see that.  And you can always call me, and the help I can bring from the SIU will be at your side.”

Laura picked up the charm, turning it over in her hands.  “How will your clan know that this was given and not taken?”

“They will have their own family crest.  To make your own weapon – a bullet, a blade – is to become a full member of my clan,” she explained.  “There is old magic in that rite of passage.  If two crests touch, they will know the intent of the maker.  They will be able to know if it was given willingly or taken.”

“Magic in your clan and yet you hunt the supernatural?” Laura asked, still holding the arrow head.

Allison smiled sadly.  “Hunters is what we became, for a time.  Something malicious and vengeful.  But that is not who we are now, nor what we started as.  My clan is protectors.  Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes.”

Laura stood, reaching her hand out to Allison, who followed.  “I accept your token, Argent Matriarch.”

“I thank your acceptance, Alpha Hale.”  The two women smiled at each other, something genuine now that an alliance had been met.  “With that out of the way,” Allison said, her tone shifting to something lighter, “there is one more thing I would like to ask of you.”

X

 

Stiles covered is mouth with the collar of his shirt.  The place stank.  It was complaints from neighbors that got the Sheriff’s department checking the apartment out.  The coroner said the man was dead for about a week. 

 _Not long after I found the foxglove,_ Stiles thought. 

The coroner couldn’t establish cause of death without an autopsy, but Stiles knew right away, looking at the sallow color of the man’s face, the sunken eyes and brittle skin.  “He used up his own life force,” he told them.  Stiles had seen it before, at the academy. 

There was only one other spark there at the same time as him, a few years younger.  Any spark who presented would have known what this was.  They were taught that first in the special afterschool classes.  Don’t overdo it.  It will kill you.  The kid, he had been a lot like Stiles.  Hyper, sharp as a whip, a prodigy.  But he was cocky where Stiles was cautious.  Stiles had learned the hard way what happens when you lose control.  Unmarred and unchecked, he did more damage to himself than anyone else ever could. 

Stiles had watched him die.

“He wasn’t very strong to begin with,” Stiles commented, probing the air with his own spark.  The death of a spark, when done this way, left an energy behind, a final burst before they, well, burst.  No wonder Parrish tingled.  It would have felt like a thousand hornets if he had been at the last death of a spark Stiles witnessed.  “But this is our spark.”  He could taste it in the air, the same energy that had been mixed in with the foxglove to breed that particular plant.

“Poor kid,” Kira said beside him.  The spark didn’t look older than nineteen. 

“There’s nothing in his affects to suggest he had anything to do with the foxglove,” Parrish said, stepping out of the bedroom, shifting in his skin uncomfortably. “Other than the fact he went to a university in Arizona.”

“It’s him,” Stiles said. “Their energies match up.  You can have Deaton confirm.”

“There’s something else,” Tara, the other deputy on scene, said.  She handed over a sealed evidence bag.  “This was in the boy’s mouth.”

“Mistletoe?” Stiles questioned.  He turned to Kira, both of their minds racing over what they knew, what this clue presented.

“Stiles,” his dad said, motioning for the coroner to bag the body, “if this kid was the one who planted the foxglove, who’s the person in the tape?”

Stiles swallowed, looking at the mistletoe.  “A druid.”

X

“Are you sure we can trust her?” Derek asked, following his sister.  As their second, he wasn’t going to let his alpha face an unknown danger alone.

“He proposals were genuine,” Laura reminded him.  “And if there’s something threatening my home, I want to help.” 

Derek remained silent as they got into her car, leaving the café in Isaac’s hands until Erica showed up. 

“It’s my duty,” she reminded him.

They followed Allison o the Sheriff’s station, Derek worrying more and more as they neared.  Allison and let some information go about what it was in the woods that had gotten Stiles so rattled the day before.  Derek had merely thought he was stressed about the graffiti.  He knew there was something happening, what with the foxglove and unknown spark around, but he never imagined this. 

Derek knew about different types of kitsune, but nogitsune were rare variations, so much so that they were mostly myth and legend.  To learn that one was slumbering under the woods he had grown up in was frightening. 

Worse, the plan Allison had laid out for them was dicey.  Risky at best it had no guarantees of working even if everything falls into place.  There were too many holes in their knowledge about what could change a fox. 

Stiles, a kitsune Derek assumed to be Kira, the Sheriff, and two deputies were waiting for them.  Stiles looked pale and smelled anxious. 

“Derek?” he asked, surprised.  “Laura?  What are you two doing here?”

“We need an alpha,” Kira supplied.

“Why didn’t you bring one?”

“Not the time,” she warned.  “Stiles, this is Allison, my partner.  I don’t believe you’ve met.”

“You were a year ahead of me.  Archery ace, right?” Stiles asked.

Allison nodded.  “And you’re the spark that slipped through our fingers.”

Derek looked between them curiously.  “Wait,” he said, the pieces finally slotting together.  “The Academy was for the SIU?” 

Stiles only shrugged, a look of discomfort clear across his face.  “Can we table this formality stuff and get to work?  Kira and I just reviewed the security tapes.  Someone recently came back to the foxglove to find it dead and broken from the source of magic.  They tore the grove up in a fit before storming off.  Whoever it was isn’t a spark, or they’d have planted it themselves.  We have reason to believe it was a druid, but with that as our only lead, we’re practically at square one.  Druids can hide themselves easier than any other being out there.”

“On top of that,” Kira continued, “The nemeton sprouting new from the petrified stump means that the power keeping the nogitusne locked up has been disturbed.  The earth can go back to growing, which seems like good news, other than the fact that it’s let something loose.  And as of right now we have no way to track it, or even know what level of power it’s been able to manifest itself into.”

“So we’re up two different shit creeks without paddles,” Stiles concluded.

“How recently was this mystery person at the grove?” Laura asked.

“About two hours,” the Sheriff supplied.

“Derek can track them down.  I have to stay with the team hunting the fox spirit.”

“I can’t send a civilian out on his own,” the Sheriff cut in.

“I’ll go with him,” Allison offered.  “Kira has a better mind for the nogitsune.”

“I’d like to take the Hell Hound, too,” Kira said.  “If you’re willing.”

“I can do that,” Parrish said, stepping over as if they were picking teams for kickball.

“Tara and I will be on standby,” the Sheriff said.  “We’ll come if you call, or get you what you need.”

“Thank you,” Allison said.

“Who needs me more?” Stiles asked.

Kira and Allison looked between them.  “It’s hard to say,” Allison said.  “We don’t know what kind of threat we’re facing with the foxglove but your kind of power could really help take down a void.”

“Take him,” Kira said, reaching into the thigh pack she wore and pulling out a black throwing star.  “I’ve got something I know can at least fight it.”  She snapped the star in half and a shadow poured out, forming the shape of a man.  It wore a demon mask. 

“Woah,” Stiles said, impressed.  “So this is a fox tail.”

X

Stiles didn’t know how he felt about Derek helping out with the case.  Stiles needed to focus and he wasn’t sure how well he could do that with someone he, uh, felt things about in face of danger.  He stood next to Allison awkwardly as Derek sniffed the trees. 

“This way,” Derek said. 

The three of them tromped through the woods. 

“She’s furious,” Derek commented lowly.

“She?” Allison asked.

Derek nodded.  “Her actual scent is masked,” he commented.  “But there are chemo signals too strong here to miss.”

“Do you get anything else?” Stiles asked, hoping for a hint of what type of human or beast they were dealing with.

Unfortunately the masking of the base sent also covered any hints of magic.  Stiles should have suspected considering he couldn’t pick up on anything either, but he didn’t always read the power of creatures. 

“So you were with the Supernatural Investigation Unit?” Derek asked Stiles.

“Uh,” Stiles said, scratching the back of his head.  “Yeah.  Briefly.”

“Stiles was a prodigy, and a spark.  We could have really used him,” Allison said a little bitterly.

“What happened?” Derek asked gruffly.

“I quit.”

“You quit the FBI?” he scoffed. 

Stiles sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets.  “And then I came back home, lived with my dad, and tried to figure out how I was going to make a living now.  Yes.”

“We’d still take you back,” Allison said.  “My father’s said so himself.”

Stiles grimaced.  “I don’t want to be used, Allison.  That’s why I left.”

Stiles looked up to catch Derek looking back at him.  The werewolf frowned before continuing forward.  They were walking deeper and deeper into the preserve.

Suddenly Derek tensed.

“What is it?” Allison asked.

“My house,” Derek growled.

“What?”

Stiles blanched.  The old Hale House.  He knew where they were heading.  The three of them started running through the woods. 

“Why,” Stiles panted as he tried to keep up with the werewolf, “would they, huh, be at, huh, your old house?”

“Don’t know,” Derek gritted through his teeth.  

It wasn’t long before Stiles could feel the presence in the air.  It was heavy and oppressive.  Stiles didn’t know how he hadn’t felt it before.  Perhaps he was just never close enough.  Perhaps they had done something to make themselves stronger now that the foxglove was ruined. 

Perhaps, Stiles thought, fear eating at his insides as the Hale House finally came into view, it was one thing they were fighting all along.

He could feel it now, the corruption of druidic energy.  It wasn’t just a druid they were facing.  It was a darach.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles wouldn’t have been able to identify the thing before him as female.  They wore an outfit out of a bad diner theatre production of Dracula and their face was, well, their face was slashed to pieces.  Stiles didn’t know how the woman survived those wounds to begin with. 

But there was something wrong with her.  Worse than the corrupt powers of a dark druid.  This woman wasn’t herself. 

“Guys, stay back,” Stiles said.

The thing grinned, a small lift of the lips that stretched like a funhouse mirror through the distorted muscles in her face.  Her eyes were both calculating and dead. 

“Saw through me already?” she asked, amusement coloring her words.  Stiles shivered at the sound of her voice.

“Allison, call Kira.  Tell them to meet us here.”

“But the nogitusne-”

“ _That’s_ the nogitusne,” Stiles said, his eyes taking in the whole area. 

Derek shifted, a low rumble in his chest. 

“Don’t engage,” Stiles warned. 

Allison called Kira, the message was quick but effective.  They should be there soon, the nemeton her team was checking out not far away. 

“What are you going to do, Stiles?” the woman asked.  He didn’t know how it knew his name.  He didn’t want to.  “Bring your friends here so I can kill them, too?”

The scroll Allison had found said they needed to “change the host.”  Their fool plan relied on the nogitsune having a host at all.  It seemed it did, this woman.  The problem was, Stiles didn’t think a druid could be changed, they would only reject the bite.  Magic’s didn’t mix.  But they weren’t immune, like Banshees or Hell Hounds.  Druids weren’t creatures of death, so the bite might not turn one, but it would still kill one.

He didn’t know if that would be enough.

“Don’t get shy now,” it purred, a disarming sound coming from such a disfigured face.  “You’ve been meddling.”

Stiles raced through what he knew, what he could have missed.  The woman approached, slowly like a tiger stalking it’s pretty.  Stiles threw reached into his pocket and threw up a handful of mountain ash, creating a barrier between them.  With a raise of his hand, he doubled its power with his own shield.  It wouldn’t keep it forever, but they could stall until backup came.

“You’re a strong one,” it mused.  “Much more worthy an opponent than that child.”

“Opponent?” Allison startled. 

“The foxglove,” Stiles realized, puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.  “It wasn’t for the poison.  He was cultivating for protection.  He was going to use it against her but she killed him, forced him to use up his life force before he could.”  There was nothing in his room to connect him to some evil plot.  “How did he even know about you?” he wondered out loud. 

“If it was to be used against it, why was it so angry?” Derek asked.

“Because Deaton and I split the magic from the land.  The kid didn’t realize he was disturbing the earth’s magic.  It was enough to knock power back into the void.  Cutting it off when we did stinted its power growth.”

“You’re a smart one, Mr. Stilinski,” the scarred woman said.  The way she said his name gave him chills, but then something clicked in his mind.

“Ms. Baccari?” he asked, horrified.  His afterschool teacher, who taught him and Lydia about their powers was a druid, the emissary to a local pack.  She died.  Killed by the hands of her lover and alpha. 

“Yes and no,” the thing said. 

“How,” he demanded.

“Her blood,” It said simply, as if this were a game and it was giving him a clue to gain the upper hand, while knowing it had many other Ace’s up its sleeve to win.  “She seeped into the roots of my cage.  We bonded.”

 _Blood sacrifice_ , Stiles thought.  It meant power, given back to the nemeton, given back to the nogitsune.  If it was enough blood (and judging by the large claw marks across the face, down the neck, it would have been a lot of blood), the nogitusne could have tied itself to a host.  Even as Ms. Bacarri was struggling for life in the ER, she was being controlled in part by the nogitsune.  It had had ten years to manifest, to grow to the point where a disturbance in the earth was enough to let it slip free. 

Stiles didn’t know if this host was a creation or the original.  He had thought Julia Bacarri had died.  She was, in a way, dead.  But after all this time, and with the sudden power surge, it could have easily taken the last of her life to create its own.  But Stiles could still feel the druidic energy, corrupted but there. 

He took out his phone and dialed Deaton.  Stiles couldn’t tell if this was Julia or a shadow clone, which could make all the difference in their plan.  Deaton could.

X

Derek could hear his sister racing towards them, a low howl reverberating through him, too low for anyone other than him to hear at this distance.  They would be here soon, he only hoped it was enough.

The creature, because Derek didn’t know what else to call it at this point, walked calmly down his old porch and put its hands against the glowing blue barrier Stiles had put up.

Stiles yelled out, a crippling sort of pain, before the blue energy vanished back into him. 

“Shit,” Stiles hissed. 

Derek had raced towards him, confused and growing more afraid by the second.  The creature pushed against the barrier again, and another form of blue energy pulsed where it touched the air.

“What just happened?” Derek asked, his hands itching to reach out to Stiles, give him support or gain assurance of his safety.

“It could eat my energy if I let it,” Stiles said.  “The mountain ash won’t hold it long by itself.”

Allison pulled out an array of weapons he didn’t know how she had them stashed on her.  He didn’t want to know.  Derek knew none of her bullets or arrows would help against this thing.

“A nogitsune with the added power of a druid,” she said with a frown.  “I know how to fight _one_ of those. Not both”

Derek didn’t know how to fight either creature.  He knew how to throw a punch, use his teeth and claws to take down a prey, but he never fought a predator.  Derek wasn’t someone who was familiar with combat.  Not the way Allison was, or Stiles.  And he didn’t even really know what he was up against.  He was a good tracker, and he had done his job.  But now he worried. 

He worried about getting in the way.  He worried about getting one of his sudden teammates hurt.  Worse, he worried that, without him there to take a beating, someone who couldn’t heal as fast might die. 

Derek didn’t know how to fight.  He supposed now was as good as time as any to learn.

The nogitsune pushed through the mountain ash. 

Allison shot at it, knocking it backward briefly as Stiles flung fire at it.  It walked through the flames, the wound from Allison’s bullet disappearing as quick as it had been made. 

“You think that can stop me!” it shrieked, the voice carrying an extra weight behind it.  “You think _any_ of you can STOP ME!”

It reached a hand out towards Allison and she flew backwards, hitting a tree before falling down.  It turned its hand to Stiles.  He went flying, but this time Derek knew what was coming and raced behind him, stopping Stiles from crashing into anything else and softening the blow.  Allison lay unconscious.

“Your guard dog is of little use,” it smirked. 

The creature brought its hands up, but Derek had noted something important already.  It may be powerful, but it wasn’t that fast.

Derek let go of Stiles and charged.  His claws extended, Derek reached for where another werewolf had once tried to kill the woman the thing wore.  Even with the thick scar tissue, the throat would be like butter to slice through. 

But Derek miscalculated.  For all that the creature wasn’t fast, it was quick.  It caught his movement the moment he started and changed the direction of its own swing.  Hands with more strength than a body that size should have slammed down on his right shoulder, sending him flying just like Allison.  His shoulder screamed.  Dislocated, some distant part of his mind supplied, even as he crashed into a tree. 

“Derek!” Stiles yelled.

All foolish thoughts of being able to be something bigger than himself vanished as he landed on the ground.  The brief moment of heroics gone. 

There was a howl Derek could hear past the ringing in his ears.  It would call the rest of their pack.  He wished he hadn’t been so quick to jump the gun, because then Laura wouldn’t have roared.  If the other betas came, even Cora, they would be torn limb from limb.  He worried Laura might not last either. 

Derek blinked.  Flashes of light caught his attention as his body forced itself together.  Stiles and the creature where fighting, keeping a distance from each other because Stiles was lighter on his feet and smarter than Derek.

He was able to get his feet under him again just as the other team arrived.  Kira’s had a sword that was sparking with lightning.  She and the Oni made from her fox tail took close combat from both sides as Stiles fought off the creature’s attempts to use druidic magic against them.

Laura’s hands were on his shoulders, helping him stand for the last few seconds before he was truly well enough to move on his own.

“It’s too powerful,” he said, fear creeping into his voice.  “Don’t let the pack get hurt.”

Laura’s grip tightened briefly.  It reminded Derek of the Dakotas.  Just him and his sisters, taking refuge with a pack lead by a distant cousin.  They had gone there after New York, once they were done grieving, done being anonymous, done with the smells and discomforts that kind of city life would get you.  They had started off in North Dakota and by the end of eight months had traveled south, away from the cousins they didn’t know, having fought off sixteen different packs and making treaties and alliances with all of them along the way.

Even when it was just the three of them, Laura never let the pack get hurt.  She kept her head level and assessed every situation like a math problem she could figure out once she knew the formula.  Laura was so much like their mother in times of pressure, it always made Derek’s heart clench.

Laura turned from him and watched.  They took in the scene together.  Kira and the Oni sliced away at the creature as it threw up short barriers just before blade hit skin.  It would throw out magic and sometimes it hit someone, sometimes Stiles stopped it.  Sometimes Stiles hit it, throwing it off balance just long enough for one of the blades to hit.  The thing always healed near instantly.  Deputy Parish was at Allison’s side.  She only now blinking awake from being thrown against the tree.

They couldn’t join the fray without getting in the way, but they were losing.  For every blow the nogitsune took, it was left undamaged.  Stiles was beading with sweat and it looked like Kira was fighting with a broken leg.  The Oni was unaffected, but it wasn’t a match for the nogitsune.  The creature was at least twice as strong.

Invincible.

Derek caught a whiff of another scent.  A wolf, tearing through the underbrush.  But it wasn’t any of his pack.  He looked to Laura, but she seemed just as surprised by the oncoming scent. 

“There’s a werewolf,” Laura informed the crowd at large, “headed our way.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Stiles said, panting and never letting the constant throws of raw magic stop.   “Scott’s back in town.” 

 


	9. Chapter 9

The creature smiled wickedly, all the more twisted by the scarring of its face.  “Another wolf won’t help you.  I could destroy your whole pack without much effort.”  She dodged the swing of the Oni’s blade and caught Kira’s with one hand.  The blade cut into her skin, but she seemed unfazed by it.  “I can do anything.”

The nogitsune pushed out a blast of power, knocking Kira, the Oni, and Stiles back. 

Then the house was on fire.

“No,” Derek whispered.  “Not again.”

“It’s an illusion,” Stiles called out as he forced himself to his feet.  Kira was panting from the fight and the Oni was on guard, but still.  There was heat, and the smell of smoke, but it wasn’t real.  “A nogistune is a creature of chaos.  It’s feeding off your pain, even in memory.  But it’s also a spirit.  There’s nothing tangible about what it can do without forcing someone else’s hand.  Even its body is just a host.”  Even if it were one it created, destroying the body would never fully destroy the void. 

“What about the darach it’s hosting?” Laura asked, nervously taking in the growing flames.

The nogitsune took a step forward.  Figures were stepping out of the flames.  The werewolves whined, broken sounds that only strengthened Stiles’s resolve.  The figures were also illusions.  The charred family members lost to this house years ago. 

“A druid can’t make something out of nothing.  Even as twisted as her magic has become, she can only manipulate.  She can’t create.”

“What does that even mean?” Parrish asked.  He was helping Allison to her feet, who had finally woken up. 

“It means,” Allison said, watching Stiles carefully.  “She doesn’t have the right spark.”

Stiles raised his hands, generating a power stronger than the raw magic he had been using to deflect the creature’s attacks against Kira and the Oni.  Fire sprung from his fingertips, wrapping around his hands in a way that was familiar and no longer painful.  Real flames mixed in with the illusion, clearing away the burnt figures that had gone to attack Derek and Laura and Kira and the Oni. 

As powerful as the nogitusne was, it couldn’t control the elements.  It only had the powers of manipulation, and what the earth would give the druid. 

The pain of the fire didn’t affect it much, healing as fast as it would burn, but the flames acted as another barrier for it to force its way through. 

“Kira, zap it!” Stiles yelled. 

She spun, her katana sparking with electricity and shot out when she pointed the blade at the creature.  The force pushed it back a few steps. 

“STILES!” a new voice yelled.  It was Scott.  “GET ME CLOSE!”

Before Stiles could think of what to do, a blur of his best friend came speeding past.  Stiles dropped his fire, which let Scott get near but also let the nogitsune free to knock it back.  As Scott went flying, Stiles noticed something that looked like a tranquillizer dart in his hand. 

“Scott!  Here!”

Just like playing lacrosse, Scott tossed on instinct.  Stiles caught it and tossed it to Allison.  She understood immediately.

“Kira!” 

She automatically zapped the creature again.

“Laura!  Scott!  Hold her down.”

Scott roared, grabbing at the woman’s arms as the lightning stunned her.  Laura was seconds behind.  Together they were able to hold onto the struggling beast, if barely.

Then Allison shot.  Her crossbow in hand, the dart imbedded itself perfectly into the creature’s neck.  It went down, still struggling but too weak to fight.  Scott and Laura stayed on top of it.

“Is it over?” Kira asked into the sudden stillness.

Scott shook his head.  “It will only keep it down for five or ten minutes.”  He looked up to Stiles.  “When Deaton found out what you guys were facing, he called me to collect some rare plant.  I had just gotten back to him when you called.  Deaton should be here any minute.”

Stiles nodded.  He was exhausted.  He blinked.  Then blinked again.  The world seemed a little dim now that the adrenaline was dying down.  And tilty.  When his head hit the hard dirt, he realized it was because he was falling.

“Stiles!” he heard his named called out.  A few times.  Different voices.  But they were muffled.

Stiles blinked again, or he tried to.  He wasn’t sure if he opened his eyes. 

X

“What’s happening!” Derek demanded, checking Stiles over for injury.  He was unharmed, not even a trace of blood or burnt flesh. 

“He overdid it with the magic,” Allison hissed through clenched teeth.  She was holding her side.  Probably a broken rib. 

“Like the kid at the crime scene?” Parrish asked, alarmed. 

“No,” Kira said with determination.  “Stiles is stronger than that.”

Derek was trying to pull pain from Stiles but nothing happened. 

“It won’t work,” Scott said, still holding onto the limp body of the nogitsune with Laura.  “It’s not a physical kind of hurt.”

Derek frowned and looked down at Stiles.  He was still breathing, but it his heart was beating slower than normal. 

“Derek, can you help Allison?” Kira asked gently.

Derek looked between the two agents, then back at Stiles. 

“There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”

Derek swallowed hard.  She was right.  They were in a weird calm and he didn’t know when things might turn against them.  He had to wait for Stiles to get better on his own, but Allison was in real pain.  He could help there, at least.

Reluctantly, Derek let go of Stiles after moving him over towards the shade of the trees, and helped Allison cope with her broken rib. 

Parrish left them, going with Kira to set up some sort of trap.  They had clearly planned this when separated from his group as Jordan knew exactly what to do.  The land started to reek of death, but Derek realized it was Parrish influencing the area.  It was eerie, smelling the power of a hellhound.  Derek had never met one before.

It was like a net of energy sprouting up around the nogitsune and Laura and Scott.  A net of lightning and darkness.  It wasn’t tied off yet.  They were probably waiting for Laura and Scott to get out first.

A car pulled up and Deaton, his family’s old emissary, stepped out.  Morrell, his pack’s current emissary, climbed out of the passenger seat.

“Jesus, Stiles!” Morrell cried out, going over to him but being careful not to touch.

Deaton merely stood still, looking at the air, the net, the creature.  He blinked.  “That’s Julia Baccari,” he said in horror.

Kira nodded.  “Baccari’s the name Stiles said when the thing spoke.”

“Your plan won’t work then,” Deaton said.  “That’s her body, not one made by the void.  A druid can’t be changed, their powers tie them to the earth and separate from other creatures.”

“Well then what do we do?” Laura snarled, her eyes glowing red.  The nogitsune was already gaining back strength.  She and Scott were already struggling.

Deaton turned to his sister.

“We need Stiles.”

“He’s already down, Alan.  It would kill him.”

Derek growled at that, a low rumbling sound.  Allison placed a hand on his arm.  It wasn’t enough to stop his anger. 

“Laura, Scott, get out here,” Deaton said calmly.  “Then close the net,” he told Kira and Parrish.

He didn’t even watch to make sure they followed his orders before heading over to Stiles.  Deaton took his sister’s hand and looked her squarely in the eye.  “He’s the only one who can do it.”

“Do what?” Derek snapped.

Morrell nodded.  The two of the positioned themselves on either side of Stiles, their intertwined hands over his heart.

“The key difference between druids and sparks are their type of magic,” Deaton explained.  “A druid uses the power already found in nature.  Mountain ash has magical properties of its own that we can tap into.  Ley lines enhance our power.  We can make different types of sacrifices to gain power back from the earth.  It’s a balancing act.  We are here to keep balance.  For everything we take, we must give.”

Deaton and Morrell dug their free hands into the earth as deep as they could.  Derek could smell the magic sizzle like a current traveling up their bodies like the electricity machines at science museums that make your hair stand up. 

“A spark can tap into objects with magical property, like mountain ash, but their power comes from nothing but themselves.  It’s not an exchange.  It’s just themselves.  If they use too much, they could die.”

Something was happening to Stiles.  His chest was raising like the floating assistant in a magic show.  His eyes were still closed, but he gasped loudly. 

“Many sparks can’t do much because they never learn control.  But the ones who do, the ones who cultivate their energy.  They can do feats to which the rest of us might never even imagine.”

Stiles jackknifed up.  His eyes glowed.  Not the way a werewolf’s or even a kitsune’s would.  Rather, it seemed like energy was pouring out of them, as if there was too much to be contained.

“What did you do?” Derek asked, horrified.

Morrell stood, a bit wobbly on her feet.  “We gave him some of our power, some of the earth’s, to recharge his spark.”

“And what did you give in exchange for that,” Laura asked, her voice not quite trusting her emissary.

“All my strength,” she said.  “I won’t be able to do anything for a few days.”

“Stiles?” Scott said, hedging over to his friend.

Derek stayed rooted in spot.  He wasn’t sure if he should go over to him.  “What is he going to do?” Derek whispered, afraid.  Not of what Stiles could do, but what this was doing to Stiles.

“Just watch,” Allison whispered in return.

Derek listened to Stiles’s heart, having gone from too slow to too fast in mere moments.  Kira and Jordan were struggling with the net, the nogitsune inside only at half strength but still impossibly strong. 

Stiles reached through the net, the electricity and darkness not touching him. 

“Stand back!” Morell yelled, her arm reaching out to Laura like a protective mother.  Deaton grabbed at Kira and Parrish.  They all stood, watching, helpless as Stiles grabbed hold of Julia Baccari’s body and _pushed._

Derek wasn’t sure what he was seeing.  There was this light pouring out of Stiles, fighting against the hold the nogitusne had over the druid.  It wasn’t exactly darkness, not in the way Parrish’s energy or Kira’s Oni moved like smoke and blackness.  The nogitsune was a void, that’s what he had been told.  Stiles was pushing light into a black hole.

 _It could eat my energy if I let it._ That’s what Stiles had said.  That’s what made him so weak fighting the thing in the first place.  That’s what he was letting happen now. 

“Why?” Derek asked, confused.

“A nogitsune is a type of kitsune,” Allison explained.  “A yako.  A fox that doesn’t have a form.  It’s a void.  A blank space.”

“So?”

“How do you get rid of a blank space?”

Derek watched as Stiles pushed and pushed.  He was pushing the power Morrell and Deaton had given him through the darach.  He was pushing his own energy into something that wasn’t there.  He was filling it up.

“He’s going to kill himself,” Derek whispered in horror.

Allison squeezed his arm gently.  “He might survive.  There’s a reason the SIU wanted him, Derek.”

Derek could only watch in horror.  His heart was clenching up in a way he hadn’t felt since the months after his parents died.  That foreboding feeling that every shadow is an enemy, that every breath is filled with smoke.  That nothing good can happen.

He looked to Allison, who seemed stable on her feet now.  He dropped his hand, the slow leech of pain ending with the loss of contact.  She gasped as Derek stepped away, and then yelled his name when she realized what he was doing.

Everyone was watching, but no one was prepared to act, so Derek was able to dart forward and not be caught by either alpha in the clearing. 

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’s midsection.  Something visceral took his breath away at the contact.  Stiles startled causing a hiccup in his outpour of magic. 

“Derek?” he asked, trying not to break his concentration.

It took a moment, but Derek found his breath and his voice.  “Don’t,” he wheezed, feeling vulnerable and human in a way Derek had never experienced before.  “Don’t give so much of yourself away that there’s nothing left.”

Stiles sucked in a large breath.  His eyes cleared of the glow that was haunting his appearance.  He blinked, as if seeing the creature in front of him for the first time.  What Stiles had been doing was working.  Even Derek could see how _something_ was leaving her.  It looked like a mirage, not quite invisible but not quite there.

“One last push,” Stiles said.  His hand gripped around Derek’s wrist.  Derek felt something leave him, a lot like the way he takes pain but in reverse.  The feeling was just as strong a rush. 

Together, it felt like, they pushed. 

The host fell to the ground, nearly comatose and screaming.  They had cut its strings.  Stiles grabbed the twitching body of Julia Baccari and pulled.  He yelled “Kira!  Jordan!” and the two of them threw up their net, pulling it tight.

The mirage had disappeared, but Derek could pick out one living thing inside the tangle of lightning and darkness.

A fly. 

“That’s it?” Derek asked.

“No,” Stiles said.  “Tighter,” he told the others.

The net became a solid ball of sparkling shadows. 

“We can’t hold it forever,” Kira said, her voice pained from the effort.

“You don’t have to,” Deaton said. 

Morrell raced to the car and came back with a wooden box.  “Make it as small as you can,” she instructed.

Kira and Jordan closed in, stepping closer and closer until their energies created something the size of a tennis ball.  The buzzing of a fly sounded louder than ever as it tried to break free.

Carefully, Morrell brought the box up until the ball was inside and then closed the lid on top of it. “Okay,” she said.  “You can let it go.”

“That box is supposed to hold that thing?” Laura asked.

“It’s made from the wood of the nemeton,” Deaton explained.  “That was its original prison.  This should hold it.  And we can make it so no one can open in.”

“Our own dark artifact, nice,” Stiles whispered, before slumping forward.  Luckily, Derek’s arms were still wrapped around him.  “Although,” he slurred, head still lolled towards the ground, “you may have to wait before I curse anything.”

“Stiles!” Derek shouted, alarmed.  He turned Stiles over in his arms and tilted his face up.  He’d fainted.  His skin was ashy and under his eyes were a bruised purple.  “We have to get him to a hospital,” Derek urged.

“I’ll call my mom,” Scott said, motioning Derek to carry Stiles to Deaton’s car.  “Let her know we’re on our way.”

A half hour later Derek was sitting by Stiles’s hospital bed.  Kira was strapped to an IV drip in the bed over and Allison was getting an X-ray. 

Everyone was exhausted, even if they didn’t have wounds to fret over, but Stiles was the worst for wear.  If it hadn’t been for Stiles stealing some of Derek’s energy, he could have killed himself trying to split the nogitsune from the host. 

He was asleep, fluids being pumped into him, same as Kira who had also exerted her magic abilities. 

The Sheriff entered the room.  Derek and scented him down the hall.  “How is he?” the older Stilinski croaked. 

“Alive,” Derek replied, lost for any other qualifier. 

The Sheriff sat down on the other side of Stiles’s bed and took his son’s hand.  All of Stiles’s burn scars were visible, his flannel layer taken off to hook up the IV. 

“When he got these,” the Sheriff said, running his thumb lovingly over the puckered skin of Stiles’s wrist and hand, “he almost died.  It wasn’t the fire.  It was the magic.  When he got recruited into the Academy, I was so proud, because he is so smart and so talented.”  The Sheriff’s voice wavered, cracking with unshed tears.  “But I was terrified.  He had just gotten his spark under control.  And I just knew something like this might happen if he went chasing bad guys that needed him to use it.”  The man laughed, a wet and hollow sound.  “And then he quits and he still ends up in the hospital.”

“He’s alive,” Derek said again, more of a reassurance this time.  That Stiles was strong.  That Stiles wasn’t going anywhere.  That maybe he was meant to have wound up at the SIU, and then back at Beacon Hills.  Maybe he was meant to catch the nogitsune before it got more powerful than it already had.  He was the only one who could stop it.  Maybe it was fate.

Derek thought of the other spark, the one who had died creating a special type of foxglove.  It was all good and well to think about fate when someone became the hero.  It was hard to think that would also mean it was that kid’s fate to die.

“He’s alive.”  That was all that mattered.  He had to stop thinking like a writer.  Sometimes there was no greater purpose.  Things just happened.  And if they were lucky enough, they survived.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles woke up in that weird way that chemically induced sleep makes you.  He groggily listened into the world around him, half asleep, and then is up and mid conversation without really realizing how he got there. 

“Wait, hold up,” Stiles said, squeezing his dad’s hand.  “How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” his dad said with a wry smile.  “Glad to have you back.”

It didn’t take much prodding to get the whole story of what happened after he passed out.  The first time, apparently.  Stiles couldn’t really remember some of the things he did.  It was a foggy notion of different energies swirling around in him, instinct and a general sense of wrongness causing his actions.  He remembered what it felt like to push that much energy, to be on the brink of death, to keep going.  He remembered saying Derek’s name, and Derek’s voice, and Derek’s warmth, and Derek’s electric blue energy pulsing like a strobe light into his veins.

After he passed out the second time, Parrish called in dispatch to take care of Julia’s body.  The rest of the Hale pack had shown up just in time to be escorted away.  Derek had stayed with him the whole first day in the hospital.

“I had to send him away,” the Sheriff said.  “Laura said he’s been holed up writing the last two days.”

Stiles felt like he had a hangover, mostly.  Stiff and groggy, moving felt like a bad idea but he could do it.  He got tired quickly once they made their way out of the hospital.  It didn’t take much to get him released. 

By the time they reached the house, there was already a familiar black Camaro parked on the street out front. 

“I called him when you were in the bathroom,” his dad explained. 

Stiles rubbed a tired hand over his eyes.  He didn’t even bother asking how Derek had gotten inside.  The answer was Scott, he found out pretty quickly, who was also waiting for him. 

“Stiles!” Scott yelled, vaulting over the couch and racing for him.  Stiles found himself embraced by his friend and desperately pushing him off for air. Derek was the one who tugged Scott enough to knock the grip loose.  “Shit, sorry dude.”

The Sheriff squeezed past them, hanging his coat up in the hall and heading towards the kitchen. 

“It’s fine.”  Then Stiles hugged Scott properly, because even without the recent hospital trip, it had been too long since his near brother was in town.  “I missed you, bro.  I didn’t know you were coming back so soon.”

“I still have a month left of classes before I get a break, but when Deaton calls, you know.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed.  He knew. 

“But it looks like I won’t have to worry about that much,” Scott said, grinning up at Derek.  Stiles looked between the two, trying to keep his heart rate steady.  He wanted to talk to Derek, privately.  There were too many things going on in his head right now.

Derek cleared his throat and motioned for them to get comfy in the living room.  “Scott sat down with my sister yesterday to discuss the terms of two alphas in one territory.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, unsure what the protocol even was for that sort of thing.  He was surprised he hadn’t really thought of it before.  His dad came back and set a PB&J and a mug of coffee in front of Stiles.  “You’re a god send,” Stiles smiled.

“Well, Laura’s kinda freaking awesome,” Scott said, “and I have another year left of vet school and, I don’t know, there aren’t really any wolves out where I’m studying and I really like it there.”

Stiles’s heart sank.  Sure, it was barely two hours away, but this was his best friend.  Stiles had been out of town for so long, he was kind of hoping once Scott came back, too, everything would be okay again.

But he remembered what Deaton said about the currents of magic drawing us places.  Scott had gone to school away from here, and that’s where he had become alpha.  That was where they had needed one.  This land was always Hale territory. 

“Maybe I’ll move to Brighton Valley so I can be a little closer.”  It was still in the county.  And he had to move out of his dad’s house eventually. 

“We can be normal adults,” Scott laughed.  “Get beers once a week.  Play golf.”

Stiles nearly snorted his coffee.  “Yeah, us, golf.  That’s what’ll happen.  Maybe fishing.  You can use your claws.”

Scott pushed him.  “I’ll catch you before I head back to school, but I have to go.  I uh,” Scott blushed, “I got a date.”

“A date?”

“That Yukimura girl,” the Sheriff said.  “They both know how to be strong leaders one moment and trip over their own feet the next.”

“I’m surprised they’re still in town,” Stiles said, although he was glad for Scott.  Kira did seem like the type of girl he’d be good with. 

“Allison’s still trying to get Laura to join the SIU,” Derek said gruffly.

Stiles smirked.  “That’s why I never tried.  They had asked me to, but even before meeting Laura, I knew her well enough to know she’d never go for it.”

Scott said his goodbyes and his father cleared the empty plate and made a purpose of making sound as he walked up the stairs.

“I guess that means we get to talk,” Stiles said a bit awkwardly.  “I, um.  Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Derek said, ruffling the back of his hair. 

Stiles quirked a smile and wrung his hands like a dishtowel.  “You stayed by my bedside for a whole day, if my dad’s word is to be trusted.” 

Derek ducked his head.  Stiles was hard pressed to not find it absolutely adorable. 

“And you gave me your energy,” Stiles said.  “I’m not even sure I know how that happened.  Taking energy from a druid is one thing, but a werewolf?”  Stiles switched from wringing his fingers to biting his thumb nail.  “Something out of a story book, what happened, I’ll tell you that.”

Derek cleared his throat.  “I just, didn’t want you to die.”

Stiles smiled, slowly.  “I appreciate that.  I do.” 

“It wouldn’t have been worth it if-,”

“Yes it would,” Stiles cut him off.  “You have to understand how dangerous that thing was.  If fighting it had killed me, it would have been worth it, because not fighting it would have left everyone dead.  Everyone.  And I’m not acting suicidal, it’s just what happens in my line of work.”

“It’s not your line of work, anymore,” Derek said.

Stiles nodded.  “I know.  That’s one of the reasons I got out.  Because, to me, it was always worth it.”

Derek frowned. 

“This one, this one was worth it, but I’m glad as hell it didn’t come to it.  But the SIU, they treat everything like that.  And I was their prized spark, and while they wanted me to live and succeed, they didn’t seem to be anything except angry when another spark died, because they lost an asset.  And can we change topics, please, because I really don’t want to be thinking about this right now.”

Stiles knows he was the one who brought it up in the first place, but he was tired and had a lingering feeling of being upset with no clear reason why.  He practiced a few breathing techniques to help prevent a panic attack, not looking at Derek as he did so.  Once his heart rate was down, he was about to say sorry, when Derek spoke up.

“I’ve been writing.”

Stiles nodded.  “Yeah, yeah, Dad said something about that.  What kind of stuff do you write?”

“Books.  Novels.  Stories about people finding themselves or whatever.”

“Yeah? You any good?” Stiles asked, thankful to have the topic be on Derek. 

“You like them.”

“Already?  But I haven’t even read them,” Stiles smiled.  Derek raised an eyebrow, this cocky assurance doing something to lessen the tension.  Then something slotted into place.  The only book they had ever talked about, the one Derek noticed on his side table, was _Smoke and Ashes_ by D. H. Silas.  Stiles blinked.  “Derek, what’s your middle name?”

Derek smiled. 

“Oh my god, I don’t know if I should kill you or ask for you to sign my book.”

Derek laughed.  “Sorry.  I didn’t know when to bring it up.  But, uh, I’m sort of writing a sequal.”

“What?” Stiles squawked.  D. H. Silas was notorious for refusing to write series, even when his fourth novel, _Three Spirals,_ was perfectly set up for at the very least a YA trilogy to rival _Hunger Games_.  He could have easily flushed it out, continued the story, made a four part movie deal and merchandising.  But Silas, in a press release, refused to bow under pressure to write more than his vision.  Let the future of his characters be in the imagination of the readers, his stand alone novel told the story he wanted to. 

Derek shrugged.  “Bryson’s story never felt finished to me, but I think, after starting to heal himself, he was finally able to let others in again, and found someone else who was trying to put themselves back together.  And the two of them, I don’t know, made each other stronger than they would have been apart.”

Stiles swallowed.  “Was _Smoke and Ashes_ semi-autobiographical?”

“All writing is,” Derek brushed off, too casually. 

“Have you been writing about _me_?” Stiles asked, his voice squeaking a little.  His face was burning up.

“I mean,” Derek rushed to say, “it’s not really you.  I changed looks and backstory and other stuff, but I mean, Bryson meets someone who he just can’t seem to wrap his head around.”

Stiles shifts in his seat, looking away again, but this time with a smile threating to break out.  “Is that a good this or a bad thing?”

“A good thing.”

Stiles did smile at that.  “A good thing,” he repeated.

X

Derek made coffee, nervously tapping his fingers against the counter.  Coffee didn’t really do much to wake him up unless he drank about a gallon of a really dark roast, and he preferred the taste of lighter brews with lots of cream.  Still, there was something psychosomatic about coffee that always made him feel more like he was ready for the day.

Or the night.

The moon was up, a perfect crescent, the sky surprisingly clear tonight through their kitchen window.  He was beginning to like Brighton Valley.  He was still on Hale territory, his sister and the rest of the pack were only thirty minutes away, fifteen if there was no traffic and he sped.  He liked it, having that little bit of a buffer between him and his family.  It gave him the security of the pack, but also the ability to just sit around and write without worry about one of his sisters stopping by because they needed milk and a flight of stairs was a quicker trip than the grocery store.

The neighbors were friendly, too.  It was a denser town, just on the verge of legally being a city.  People didn’t know each other at the grocery store, which was great because he hated getting those broken hearted looks from every person who knew his parents.  Better, people didn’t stare at Stiles everywhere he went. 

Or, well, if they did it was because it was a little odd to see a man wear long sleeves and fingerless gloves in the middle of the summer.  

And if anyone connected Stiles to the stories that had filtered over from a few towns over, which had only happened once by the paper archive librarian, Stiles confirmed that he was a spark, and the librarian thought that was cool and they talked about the SIU a bit and that was it.

It was amazing what just a couple of miles could make. 

The coffee maker stopped and Derek poured himself a steaming cup, holding it in hands and just smelling it to calm his nerves.  He could hear Stiles’s heart erratically beating in the other room, but he had been eerily silent since he locked himself away a few hours back. 

Finally, he started to hear Stiles moving.  He was now pacing back and forth and Derek couldn’t figure out what he was thinking.  It was driving him crazy.  He took a sip of his coffee and then almost slipped the whole mug over himself when Stiles slammed open the door.

“I cannot believe you!” Stiles yelled, waving the manuscript around.  It took a few moments, but then Stiles burst out laughing. “You fucking wrote about Mrs. Merriweather and the fucking Knitting Circle.  Everyone in that fucking town is going to read this novel because Laura is going to low key going to tell everyone that you’re the fucking author.  They’re going to be mortified!”

Derek shuffled his feet and tried not to blush.  “I thought they deserved to be written about in a more, uh, truthful light.”

Stiles dropped the manuscript and launched himself at Derek.  Luckily, with his enhanced reflexes and strength, and knowledge of Stiles at this point, Derek was easily able to catch him.  Stiles’s legs wrapped around Derek’s waist and hands were grabbing at his face and hair. 

“You beautiful creature of the night, let me kiss you.” 

Stiles dipped his head and then Derek was drinking in the taste of Stiles’s mouth.  He couldn’t help but smile, which made it hard to kiss, but Stiles was laughing so he couldn’t be to blamed.  Stiles pulled back and brushed his thumb just under Derek’s right eye.  The amusement was still sparkling behind his eyes, but they had gone softer, tender.

“I love what you wrote about me,” Stiles said, punctuating his sentence with a kiss.  “I love how you see me.”  He kissed Derek again.  “I’m glad that you know how I see you.” Another kiss.  “I’m glad that while we both fixed our own leaky boats we get to be each other’s anchors.”  

Derek blushed and ducked his head again.  “Now who’s the poet.”  

Stiles smacked his chest lightly.  “Don’t be dumb.  No one’s as flowery as you.”

“I’ll show you flowers,” Derek growled lightly, walking towards the bedroom.  He didn't care if he was being cheesy.  He had his boyfriend's approval on  _Rising Tides_. 

“Dude, your dirty talk is the best because it’s really just stupidly romantic and-,”

“Shut up.” 

Stiles laughed.  This time, when Stiles kissed him, he didn’t stop.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> [FIND ME ON TUMBLR](http://www.inthearmsofathief.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also! I'm made a webseries about werewolves! [The Werewolf Diaries](http://www.youtube.com/c/amyberserk)


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